The Longest Week Of My Life
by StrongatHeart
Summary: What happens when Marco's dad comes to live with him, Dylan, and Ellie for a week?
1. Introduction

Title: The Longest Week of my Life

Author: StrongAtHeart

Summary: What happens when Marco's dad comes to live with him, Dylan, and Ellie for a week?

Disclaimer: I'm still not any closer to owning Degrassi than I was when I wrote the disclaimer for my last fanfic. Therefore...I still don't own it. :(

Warnings: Slash, language…that's about all I can think of for now.

A/N: This is just one of those things that kind of popped into my head. I usually don't have the patience to write anything that involves using the little add chapter button, but I couldn't pass this one up. Also, I'm aware the timeline is a bit off, for example: Paige and Alex didn't get back together for real until after Dylan had left, but he is in this story, and Paige and Alex are also together.

**Introduction**

Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up and it seems like it's going to be a good day, until something bad happens and it all just goes downhill from there? Have you ever had one of those weeks? I have.

This last week has been hell. Seriously. I am not being dramatic. It has been my worst nightmare come true. I'm sure it wasn't a picnic for anyone else involved either, but at least it wasn't _their _father who came to live with them for a week because their mother kicked him out of the house.

Oh no. It was mine.

Yes, my mother and father had some huge fight and my mother kicked him out of the house for a week. And where did my father go when my mother kicked him out? _My_ house. Yeah. Great.

Not.

This is especially not great because not only was my father living with me for a week― something I thought would never happen again after I moved out― but my roommates and friends didn't exactly make things any easier. So, not only did I have to tolerate my father's presence for a whole week, but I also had to keep it secret from him that one of my roommates was my boyfriend, insist that the other was not my girlfriend, and try to keep my friend and _her_ girlfriend out of the house.

Not easy. Not fun. At all. I swear my mother was punishing me for something when she kicked my father out. Maybe I shouldn't have broke her favorite china plate when I was five. It wasn't my fault. I thought it was a Frisbee.

Anyway, I'm sure by now you're very interested about my week in hell. And if not, I need to vent, so you're listening anyway. It all started one Monday afternoon…

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A/N: So, what do you think? I know this first part was really short, but the first actual chapter will be longer, I promise. If it sounds like a good idea, let me know and I'll continue. If it sounds like it sucks, let me know and I'll stop here, lol.


	2. Monday

**A/N: Told you it would be longer. ;) Okay, this chapter is basically just setting up for later ones, and showing a bit of what Marco, Dylan, and Ellie's daily life is like. It's kind of weird, actually...**

Monday

The day started off normal enough. It was a Monday, which is never _good,_ but it was as good and fine as a Monday could be. Mainly because of what had happened last night. Dylan had been home, and I had been home, and Ellie hadn't…and, well, we had…_enjoyed _each other's company, if you catch my drift. So I was in a remarkably good mood. I sometimes wondered if anyone put two and two together and figured out that these exceptionally good moods had to do with, er…_enjoying Dylan's company. _Ellie's smirk was a bit too knowing, and Paige tended to give a great moan whenever she saw me like that, as though the entire idea caused her some sort of great anguish. Which, considering Dylan is her brother, it probably did.

Anyway, I was unusually chipper for a Monday morning, something that Dylan found amusing and Ellie found annoying. She was slumped at the table when I jogged down the steps that morning at seven, skipping the last three steps. Her head was in her arms, and her hand was curled around a mug of coffee. If she didn't do this every morning, I would have sworn that she was dead.

"Morning, Ellie," I said brightly.

"Muh," came Ellie's groggy, muffled reply. Assuming that was supposed to mean 'good morning,' I smiled and began to prepare a cup of coffee for myself. Not that I really needed any today. I was awake and energized enough.

"Good morning, all," Dylan yawned as he strode into the kitchen in a pair of pajama pants and a loose blue robe. I couldn't help but curse the robe inwardly. Stupid cold weather. He pecked my cheek, which was my own special little 'good-morning,' and reached past me for a mug. As he emptied the coffee pot into it, Ellie finally pulled her head off her arms to look at us.

"And what did you two do all night while I was gone?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

I shrugged. "We just sat around here. The usual." No way was I about to tell Ellie what had really gone on.

The only problem was she already knew.

"Really?" she said silkily. I didn't like the gleam in her eye. Figures she'd wake up as soon as she got the chance to torment us. "Funny thing, I came home early last night, and I could have _sworn _I heard―"

She never got to finish her sentence. Thank God. I was pretty sure I knew what she had heard, and extremely relieved that I didn't have to hear her say it. The phone rang, and I nearly fell over my own feet in my haste to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Marco, it's Paige―"

"―And Alex!" Alex's voice interrupted her girlfriend's.

"Hey, guys," I said. "What are you doing up at seven in the morning, Alex?" I knew my friend, and her getting up at seven in the morning was the kind of thing you see maybe as often as you see a comet cross the night sky.

"Paige woke me up at the crack of dawn with her T-Rex-like snoring," said Alex matter-of-factly.

"I did not! I do _not _snore!" came Paige's shrill protest. They were both giggling, and I couldn't help but grin as well. They really were great together. In fact, I couldn't think of a cuter, happier couple than the two of them. Save for Dylan and I, of course.

"Anyway, I need a ride across town today," said Paige seriously when she had stopped giggling.

"What's wrong with your car?" I asked her.

"Not my car. My license. It expired, and Alex is busy today, so…" Paige's voice trailed off, and I knew that was her way of asking me.

"What time?"

"Eleven," said Paige promptly.

"Ooh, eleven?" I repeated, wincing. "I kind of have a class…maybe Dylan or Ellie can…"

"Sure, that's fine too. I just really need a ride today. Oh, and can you make sure it's Dylan?" requested the younger of the Michalchucks.

I rolled my eyes. The contempt my two best friends had for each other was really starting to get old. Maybe I'm just a peaceable person or something, but their rivalry was something that I found extremely wearing, not to mention irritating.

"Sure, Paige," I agreed dully.

"Thanks!" she said cheerfully. "Oh, Marco, I got to go. I'll call you later, though."

"Okay, talk to you later. Bye."

"I'll call you later too, Marco!"

"Bye, Alex."

I hung up the phone, chuckling softly. Then I turned to Dylan, armed with my best cute-puppy-dog-begging eyes. Never underestimate the power of cuteness.

"Dyl, honey…" I began. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at my tone.

"What?" he asked slowly.

"Paige needs a favor. Her license expired, and she needs a ride across town today," I explained quickly, still gazing at him with my eyes as big and round as saucers. I threw in a few eyelash-battings for good measure, too.

Dylan's shoulders drooped, and he heaved an immense sigh. "Why can't Alex drive her? Aren't they living together now?"

"Alex is busy. And so am I. And Ellie's…" I hesitated. "Well, why can't you do it, Dyl?"

"Cause I don't want to?" he offered.

"Please, Dylan?" I begged. "Please? She just needs a short little ride…across town."

"You already volunteered me, didn't you?"

"Kind of."

Dylan sighed again. This time it was his great defeated sigh, rather than an irritated huff. Good sign.

"Fine. But you know I only agreed because of that puppy-dog-eye trick," he said bitterly. So he was on to me. Oh, well. It had still worked. Lucky for me, Dylan found me adorable.

I grinned and Dylan, who had eaten an entire bowl of cereal during my phone conversation and was now carrying it over to the sink, paused halfway across the kitchen to peck me softly on the lips.

"What do I get if I stick out my bottom lip, too?" I asked, waiting behind Dylan as he set the bowl in the sink and turned around to see me doing exactly that.

"You get this…"

He shoved a dish-towel in my hand.

"What is this?" I demanded, holding up the towel.

"That is what you can use to dry the dishes, while I go to the three different stores I have to go to today. I was going to go later, but it might take a while, and I have to go get Paige at eleven now…"

He smirked. I scowled. And hit him with the towel.

"No way, I had dish duty yesterday. It's Ellie's turn," I said. Catching her name, Ellie stopped staring into the bottom of her coffee mug and glanced up at us.

"My turn for what?" she asked.

"Dish duty."

"Uh, no, I did it the day before yesterday. It's Dylan's turn," she said, her eyes shifting from me to him.

"But I have to go to three different stores and then go get Paige at eleven," he said. "And since Marco's the one who volunteered me for the job…"

"But I have a class in twenty minutes!" I said shrilly.

"Well, then you better hurry."

"You have _three hours!"_

"That's two less than I planned on."

"You're such a jerk."

"So I've heard."

We bickered for a bit more, and sometime during our argument we ended up laughing and flirting and swatting each other with the towel. Actually, most of our arguments tended to end up like that. Well, not the swatting each other with the towel part, but he'd say something, then I'd say something, then we ended up flirting shamelessly and usually making out. Hey, we're eighteen and twenty, what do you expect from us?

But anyway, he ended up helping me with the dishes, and Ellie sat behind us rolling her eyes and pretending to gag as usual at our PDA. When Dylan idly commented that he wondered how I'd look wearing nothing but soap bubbles such as the ones covering the dishes, I think she actually choked on her coffee. There was a loud spluttering sound and she couldn't breathe for a moment due to an ensuing coughing fit. Yeah, normal day at our house.

I'll skip ahead a few hours to save you the boredom of my history class. No one deserves to live through such agony, therefore I will not make you do it.

So, Ellie was gone somewhere, Dylan wasn't home from wherever he had taken Paige yet, and I had the house to myself. I was bent over my laptop, playing solitaire― er, I mean, working hard on my history essay― when the phone rang again. Maybe our number was the favor-hotline or something. 1-800-Favor. Yes, that was probably why people kept calling here with requests that none of us had any desire whatsoever to grant.

Anyway, I got up to answer it, irritated that I was going to be docked points on my solitaire score for the extended time, and greeted the caller with my cheeriest "Hello? Del-Rossi/Michalchuck/Nash residence." God, we needed shorter names.

"Marco, how are you?" asked the voice on the other end, obviously pleased that I had answered the phone.

"Pa…I'm good. How are you?" I asked casually.

"Not so good. Marco, I'll get right to the point― I have favor to ask," he said. I guess when I asked him how he was he actually thought I wanted an answer.

"Sure, what is it?" I inquired, my heart sinking. Why couldn't these people find other rides? Why did they need me to do it? Granted, I had shoved the first one off on Dylan, but I didn't think I'd be so lucky this time.

"I need place to stay," he said shortly.

"What?" was all I could say. What the hell had happened to his house for him to need to stay here?

"I need place to stay― just for a couple of days. Your mama…she kicked me out," he explained.

"What?" I said again, my voice rising nearly an octave. _My mother had kicked my father out of the house? _Had I heard him right?

"Your mama kicked me out, and I need place to stay for few days," he said slowly and clearly, as though speaking to a person very hard of hearing.

"Here?" I managed to choke out.

"I'm sorry, Marco…I wouldn't ask if I had anywhere else to go…"

"Okay, but why did ma kick you out?"

"We...had fight. It long story," he said dismissively. I could tell it was bothering him a good deal more than he was letting on, and I felt sympathy for both my parents override my desire to keep them…particularly my father…out of my house.

"All right, just let me talk to my roommates about it first, okay? I'll call your cell in about an hour."

"Thank you, son."

"Your welcome. Hey, Ellie just got back, so I'll tell her what's up and call you later, okay? Ciao."

There was a great thump as Ellie threw her bag onto the table. She was chatting on her cell phone to one of her friends, and I decided to run the idea of my dad staying here for a few days by both her and Dylan together, as the latter was sure to be home any minute.

"Hey, house meeting when Dyl gets home," I whispered just loudly enough to catch her attention. She was mildly curious, I could tell, but she just nodded to show she understood and headed up to her room after grabbing a bag of chips from the pantry, her cell phone balanced precariously between her ear and shoulder.

I sat back down to my game― um…I mean _essay― _and was nearly finished when I heard Dylan moving about in the kitchen.

"Dyl, house meeting in five," I called. He didn't answer, but I was reasonably certain that was because his mouth was stuffed with the last slice of cherry pie I'd left for him. Sure enough, he appeared in the doorway a moment later holding a plate with the remaining bit of pie and a fork. His mouth was obviously full, and when he'd finally managed to swallow, he addressed me.

"House meeting? What for?"

I was spared the trouble of answering when I heard Ellie's footsteps on the stairs. Her bag of chips still in her hand but minus the cell phone, she crossed the room and collapsed on the couch, fixing me with an expectant look.

"So, what's this house thing about?" she asked, tossing a handful of chips into her mouth.

"Okay, my dad called," I began, glancing nervously from Ellie to Dylan and back. "He and ma had a fight, and she kicked him out of the house. He needs a place to stay, and he was wondering…"

"He's staying here?!" demanded Dylan. I could hear the horror in his voice, even without seeing the matching expression on his face.

"Juts for a few days. He has no where else to go," I said pleadingly. As much as I really didn't want my father living with me in my house, the house where I lived with my boyfriend, he _was_ my father, and I wanted to help him.

Dylan and Ellie exchanged glances. They were of the I-Can't-Say-No-To-Marco variety, and my heart rose hopefully.

Dylan sighed and gave a relenting jerk of his head. "It's fine with me."

"Me, too," agreed Ellie.

I smiled. "Thanks, guys."

Dylan's forehead crinkled. "One thing, though, where're we―"

"Sleeping?" I finished his sentence. "Well, I have a room. I guess it's finally going to get some use."

It was true, I did have my own bedroom. Actually, I considered Dylan's room to be mine, as well. Most of my clothes and things were there, and that was where I slept. My own personal bedroom was just for appearances. It had a bed, a dresser with a few outdated shirts and ripped pairs of pants in the drawers, it even had a desk, which was more a mini-junk-storage space than anything. It was where the damaged blinds from Ellie's room had been thrown when we'd fixed up her room; the place my old lamp had been set aside after Dylan had accidentally knocked it off the side-table in the living room; and it was littered with everything else you could think of: old textbooks, a broken watch, a few of Dylan's tools, spare change, a remote for Ellie's old TV, a couple of my hats, some long-forgotten DVD's. That was pretty much all my room really consisted of. It's not like I spent a whole lot of time in it. But it was where I'd be staying when my dad came.

Dylan pouted. "I'll miss you, baby."

"Don't worry, I'll make it up to you when he leaves," I said, my voice dripping with suggestion.

"Really? How do you plan to do that?" Dylan asked, raising his eyebrows, a grin spreading slowly across his face.

We heard a great huff behind us, and tore our eyes away from each other to look at Ellie, who had stood up and was shaking her head. Her expression was a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"You two are hopeless."

I glanced back at Dylan, who had already lost interest in Ellie and was eyeing me hungrily.

She was probably right.

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A/N: Please tell me that didn't suck as bad as I think it did, lol. Either way, that little button down there? The one that says 'submit review?' Yeah, you should click it. It's magical.


	3. Monday Evening

**A/N: New chappie :D Thanks for all the reviews, they made my day, and are the reason this next chapter even exists. ****:) One more thing, hockey is mentioned in this chapter briefly, and while it's a **_**very**_** vague reference, I know virtually nothing about hockey, so let me apologize in advance if I did manage to mess anything up, lol. **

Monday-Evening

"All right, he's going to be here any minute," I said to Dylan and Ellie, who were both sprawled carelessly on the couch, their eyes following me while I paced nervously in front of them.

"Marco, relax, he's…" Dylan began, but I cut him off.

"Did you remember to take down all the pictures of us around the house?" I demanded of him.

He sighed. "Yes."

"And we didn't forget any of my stuff in our room, did we?"

"I just double-checked. There's no way he could possibly figure out that we share a room," said Dylan, trying to calm me down. It didn't work. For the last half an hour I'd dashed frantically around the house, removing all signs that Dylan and I were any more than roommates, but I was still scared to death that I'd missed something. A picture of him with his arms around me, perhaps, or a note he'd left on the counter finished off with a scribbled 'love you.' There were any number of things that could go wrong and blow my secret.

"Breathe, Marco. You can sit down, you know," said Ellie, patting the seat beside her.

I let out a deep breath and collapsed on the couch between her and Dylan, who immediately put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him, pressing a loving kiss to my forehead.

"It'll be fine. Don't worry so much," he whispered. Far from reassuring me, this only made me fret more. I struggled out of his grip, turning my panic-stricken face toward him.

"No! Absolutely none of that. That is _exactly_ what cannot happen while my dad is here!" I said, my eyes begging cooperation from my boyfriend.

"Okay, sorry," Dylan removed his arm from around my shoulders and held up his hands in a defensive gesture.

I sighed. This wasn't right. I couldn't even kiss my boyfriend in my own house. How fair was that? To either of us? "No, I'm sorry. About all of this. Trust me, I don't want him here any more than you do, as horrible as that sounds."

"It doesn't sound horrible," said Ellie. "He's kind of disrupting your life here."

"But he is my dad, and I do love him," I said, suddenly feeling a bit guilty for my reluctance to have my father stay with me.

"We know you do," Dylan assured me.

"It's just, like you said Ellie, he's disrupting my life here. It wouldn't be as bad if he knew about us, Dyl. But he doesn't, and now we have to go out of our way to make sure it stays that way." I ran my hands through my hair in frustration.

"If you want him to know, why don't you just tell him?" suggested Ellie, as though the solution was that easy.

"Ellie, you have met my dad, right?" I asked her, raising my eyebrows. "Telling him I was gay nearly gave him a heart attack. Another bombshell like that might kill him. And things are just getting back to normal between us. I don't want to push him away again."

Dylan, not missing the dejection in my voice, moved to put a comforting hand on my knee, but caught himself and dropped it back to his side. He settled for a sympathetic look and the most heartening response he could think of.

"He'll know someday, and he'll accept it," he said, and I nodded. They were simple words, but reassuring to hear nonetheless. Our conversation was ended, however, by a loud chiming that was the doorbell.

I sighed again and stood up. "That's him. You guys ready?"

"Marco, in case you didn't notice, you're the only one that's the least bit nervous about this," Ellie pointed out.

"Right. Okay. Here we go," bracing myself, I went to answer the door. I pulled it open to reveal my father standing on the front porch, appearing lonely somehow, without my mother at his side, a battered old suitcase in hand. He looked rather exhausted, and I doubted if he'd slept at all the night before. But despite all this, his face broke into a wide smile when he saw me. I couldn't help but smile back as he reached up to grasp my shoulder by way of a greeting.

"Marco, son, it good to see you!" he said happily.

"Hey, Pa, come on in," I said, taking his suitcase from him and stepping aside to allow him in.

I followed him into the living room, where Dylan and Ellie still sat. They'd been having some sort of conversation, but looked up when we walked in.

"Mr. Del Rossi…hi!" said Dylan rather awkwardly. I knew he'd always felt a bit uncomfortable around my father. At first, he'd tried to make a good impression whenever they met, but after the incident last year in which he'd accidentally thrown out my dad's back while trying to help him move a piece of furniture, he had backed off that idea somewhat and stopped trying so hard.

"Hello, Dylan," my father smiled and nodded at him, and I was relieved to see that he harbored no lingering resentment over the furniture incident. "And Ellie, we haven't seen you since we last saw Marco! How are you?"

"I'm doing fine, Mr. Del Rossi. How are you?" asked Ellie politely.

"I'm all right," answered my dad, though he avoided everyone's gaze, suddenly seeming quite out of place in the middle of our living room. Dylan, Ellie, and I exchanged glances.

"Well, dad, why don't we order a pizza? You hungry?" I asked. Dumb question.

"You know me, Marco," he chuckled and clapped me on the back.

A little over a half an hour later, the four of us were seated around the table, all of us wanting to say something but none of us sure exactly what to say. It was turning out to be a rather tense and awkward meal. Not only was the silence terribly uncomfortable, but my stomach was in knots, courtesy of my boyfriend.

He was trying, I knew, to honor my wishes and conceal our relationship. Unfortunately, he was doing a horrible job. I had meant to tell him not to sit next to me, in the hopes that it would discourage our usual affectionate gestures. But I had forgotten about it, and every time he casually laid a hand on my knee or stared at me a little too long was just another opportunity to be found out. My father, by some miracle, remained completely oblivious to all of this. Well, my mother always said he wasn't observant.

After nearly ten minutes in which the only sound was the clink of ice against glasses and the rustle of pizza on cardboard, my dad broke the silence.

"So, Dylan, you still playing hockey?" he asked, carefully selecting a piece of anchovy pizza from the box and glancing over at Dylan.

"Yeah, I still play forward, so…it's good." I cocked an eyebrow at Dylan, who shrugged and returned to his own pizza. On the bright side, this was a lot less humiliating than the last time my father and my boyfriend had eaten dinner together.

"That's good," my dad nodded approvingly. "Are you planning to go pro?"

I was relieved when Dylan actually swallowed his mouthful of pizza before answering. We typically weren't graced with that courtesy. If Dylan _could_ manage to speak with food in his mouth, he would. "I'd like to, eventually. I mean I play for the university, so hopefully, I'll get a chance to take it even further someday."

My dad nodded again. "Of course, it's not easy, going pro. Only few make it," he said nonchalantly. I felt the heat rise in my face, as though he had insulted me personally.

"Well, you haven't seen Dylan play, dad. He's got what it takes," I said confidently. I knew he wasn't really intentionally downplaying Dylan's skills, but I still came to my boyfriend's defense. My father glanced up at me in surprise.

"Oh, I'm not saying he doesn't. I'm just saying― it's difficult. Many players, even those who been playing all their life, don't make it. The chances are slim. It's good, of course, to aim high and try to succeed, but you can't get caught up in fantasies," he said indifferently.

"It's not a _fantasy, _dad," I said, trying to keep my voice down and control myself. "You could try not being so negative."

"I'm not being negative, son, I'm being realistic. The chances of Dylan becoming a pro hockey player are slim to none. No offense to you of course," he added, with a short nod to Dylan.

"Anyone want another piece?" Ellie cut in as I opened my mouth to reply. She shot me a look that plainly told me to cool it. I shook my head in answer to her question and my dad dropped his gaze to his plate. Dylan was staring at me with a sort helpless apprehension, as though he really wanted to say something but couldn't in our current predicament, and I deliberately avoided his eyes.

The awkward silence was back, and this time, nobody bothered to break it.

"So, what does everyone want to do now?" I asked when we had finished and cleared the table. There was still a definite tension in the air, and I was careful to keep my voice casual. I leaned against the counter, watching absently as Dylan finished wiping the table.

"Well, there's a hockey game on tonight," he said predictably.

"That's what we did last night," I grumbled. In all fairness, we'd ended up having a pillow-and-tickle-fight half way through the game, and spent the rest of the evening…otherwise engaged…but that was beside the point.

"Okay, how about a game of cards?" suggested Dylan.

I nodded. "All right." What harm could possibly come from a simple, innocent game of cards? "Anyone else in?"

"Sure, why not?" agreed my dad.

"Great…Ellie?" I asked hopefully.

"Can't. Jesse's got Eric and I covering that county assembly downtown," she answered. I felt my heart sink slightly. Without Ellie to run intervention, it was just me, my dad, and Dylan. Even if we were just playing cards, I felt a lot better with her around. She caught my eye, and without words, silently conveyed her apology. I gave a little nod to show I understood and then addressed my boyfriend.

"Where's the deck?"

"Our room," he said automatically. He must have seen the look on my face, because he seemed to realize what he said and quickly scrambled for a cover. "I mean, o_ne_ of our rooms. Mine or yours or Ellie's. _Our_ rooms. Somewhere. Uh, I'll go find them." And with that, he hurried off upstairs to find the deck. Or, more precisely, escape the tension he had just helped to increase. I heartily wished that I could sprint up the stairs after him, but I just glanced at my dad, who didn't seem to have even caught the mistake, which was pure luck.

"Right. Well, I'll see you guys later, then," said Ellie, her eyes lingering a moment on mine.

"'Kay, see you later, El," I said. I watched her retreating back as she rounded the corner into the kitchen, unable to help but feel that she was abandoning me. The door slammed, and she was gone, leaving me alone in the room with my father. My father who, I noticed, was staring at me. I shifted my gaze from the spot Ellie had disappeared to his curious expression.

"Are you still good friends with her?" he asked suddenly.

"Huh?" I asked, a bit surprised by the odd question.

"Ellie. Are you good friends with her?" he repeated, still watching me closely.

"Um, yeah," I said, more than a little bewildered. "Why?"

He shrugged. "No reason."

There was a very pregnant pause in which I knew he wanted to say something else, but wasn't quite sure of the best way to say it.

"She's very pretty girl."

I looked at him, pretending not to understand where he was coming from. I couldn't believe he was really doing this again. "Dad, you just had a fight with mom. Isn't it a bit early to assume the worst and get back out there again?"

"I don't mean that, Marco," he said gruffly, obviously irritated at my apparent inability to comprehend what he was insinuating. "I just meant― you have been friends with her for long time, and…"

"Yeah, I have. _Friends," _I stressed the word.

"Look, I know you said that you are― that you like―" he struggled for the words.

"Guys?" I finished for him, irritated at his refusal to come right out and say it, even after all this time.

"Yes, but maybe, well…okay, you don't like Ellie that way? There are other girls. That Michalchuk girl…Paige…"

"Oh yeah, another good friend." _A friend who is currently living with her girlfriend. Somehow, I can't see her being too interested in me. _

"Marco…"

"Got the deck." Dylan held up the cards as he rounded the bend in the stairs. _Now _this _Michalchuk, on the other hand, I happen to find very attractive. _My bitterness dissipating slightly as my boyfriend joined us, I pulled aside a kitchen chair and sat back down. Out of what I knew to be habit, Dylan took a seat beside me. There was no question in my mind that my father would broach the topic again. He was never one to just let things go. He'd mention it again, in some offhand way, in that would-be casual voice of his that always got me suspicious. As accepting as I knew he was trying to be― and usually pretended to be― he had obviously not given up hope that I'd wake up one day and decide that what I really wanted was to make out with a girl. It was times like these that made me wonder if he ever would.

"Texas hold 'em?" proposed Dylan, shuffling the cards and glancing at me.

I shrugged. "Fine by me."

As Dylan dealt the first round of cards, I found my mind drifting back to another time he and I had played cards together. It had been late one night in the Michalchuk household, and I distinctly remembered him being shirtless for the first few games. If my father had not been there, I would have suggested it again right then and there. Or perhaps a rousing― or _arousing, _more like― game of strip poker. Suddenly realizing that I had a rather absent, dreamy grin on my face that I would have a hell of a time explaining to my father, I pulled my reluctant mind back to the moment and turned my focus to the game at hand.

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**A/N: Yeah, I know it was lame. Hopefully it had its moments. Probably not. But this was just Monday evening, Tuesday is a new and disaster-filled day. ;) A day that will come faster if you click that little button down there. (Hint, hint) :D **


	4. Tuesday

**A/N: Hey, people. I didn't forget about the story, I've just been really really busy. Sorry for taking so long to update, I haven't had much time to write. Anyway, this was supposed to be a Palex-y chapter, but it ended up a little different than what I planned. Paige and Alex are still in it, they just fill a kind of different roll. This is more of a set-up chapter for the next one than a big event chapter. So I'm going to shut up now and let you read it.**

Tuesday

The rest of Monday night passed without consequence. Well, unless you count my father beating Dylan and I in every game. That wasn't too fun. The only event of slight significance was when I'd followed Dylan into our room when we'd all decided to call it quits and get some sleep. It wasn't nearly as big a catastrophe as it could have been, however, owing to the fact that my dad had been in the bathroom at the time, giving me plenty of opportunity to abandon the now empty drawer I'd been searching for a pair of pants in our room and slip back into my own room unnoticed.

I tossed and turned restlessly that night, waking every few hours and taking at least another half an hour to fall back asleep each time. I had never before realized just how small and uncomfortable my bed was. Not to mention the thermostat in my room seemed to be broken. It had to be about forty degrees. I had goose bumps running up my arms and my shivered almost constantly. Usually, when I was cold, I just snuggled up next to Dylan, who always seemed to radiate heat like a furnace. But Dylan wasn't here now and I had no way to get warm.

I woke surprisingly early, considering how little sleep I had gotten. I trudged downstairs, lured by the scent of pancakes wafting up to me. Having been expecting to see Dylan standing over the stove, as Ellie never cooked breakfast, I was surprised to see my father instead. There was a plate of hot-off-the-stove pancakes on the table, and as I watched, he flipped another one from the spatula onto another plate on the counter beside him. Hmm, maybe having him here wasn't so bad after all.

"Hey, Pa," I yawned, collapsing into a chair.

"Morning," he said cheerfully. "Here, blueberry pancakes. Try some." He handed me a fork and plate, (well, technically it was Dylan's plate, it had a hockey logo on it) and a glass of orange juice. Yeah, I could see this working out.

"Thanks," I said gratefully. Snatching up the fork, I dug in. My father's blueberry pancakes were one of the things I had missed the most about living at home. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get them just the way he did.

"Morning, Del Rossi's," came Ellie's voice, accompanied by a yawn, from the doorway as she strode in clad in a fuzzy black robe and slippers. Immediately grabbing a plate from the pile my dad had set on the counter, she took a seat across from me and eagerly stabbed a pancake with her fork.

"Wow. Ellie, you actually look _alive._ In the _morning,"_ I said incredulously, as she began pouring syrup on her breakfast.

"Shut up," she said between bites. I stared at her plate in disgust.

"How can you drown your pancakes like that?" I asked. Every last bite was positively dripping in syrup. It was just a little too much sweet for me.

"How can you hardly have any syrup at all on yours? You might as well be eating them plain," she countered, scrunching up her nose at my own plate.

"How can you guys even eat syrup? The only way to eat pancakes is with jelly." I glanced up, Dylan had joined us, and to my disappointment, he was wearing the damn robe again. I really needed to do something about that. Yes, it was about time that the robe met Mr. Dump Truck. My dad's sudden exclamation jolted me out of my daze, in which brilliant schemes for the immediate removal of the robe from our household were quickly being formed.

"I knew someone else like jelly on pancakes! And you and your mama said I was only one," he said, grinning triumphantly.

"All right, so Dylan's as weird as you are," I conceded, waving a hand dismissively. At least they had something in common. Somehow, I couldn't quite see them bonding over preferred pancake toppings, though.

After breakfast, my dad left for work and Ellie, Dylan, and I departed for our separate classes. By the time I got home, I was thoroughly exhausted. All I wanted to do was take a shower, grab something quick to eat, and sleep for the next three weeks. Unfortunately, what I found when I made my way into the living room that afternoon would ensure that those things remained an impossibility.

"Paige? Alex? What are you doing here?" I hadn't meant it to sound so rude, it had just sort of slipped out.

"Nice to see you too," said Paige sarcastically. She and Alex were stretched out on the couch, Paige leaning heavily on her girlfriend, appearing quite content.

"Didn't you miss us?" asked Alex, throwing her arms open for a hug around Paige's head on her shoulder.

"Sorry. Of course I missed you guys," I said truthfully, striding across the room to hug my two friends. I sat down on the arm of the couch, as the rest of it was mostly being taken up by the single entity that was Palex.

"How did you get in here, anyway?" I asked. I knew Alex was pretty street smart, but she wasn't _that _good. At least I hoped not. The fact that Alex could have access to any room in the house anytime she wanted was unsettling, to say the least.

"Dylan let us in," answered Paige.

"Oh. So where is he?" I asked eagerly.

"Right here," said a voice from right behind me. I spun around in surprise and nearly fell of the couch in the process. Dylan smirked down at me, an amused glint in his eye.

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, though he hadn't said a word. He laughed, before turning his attention to Paige and Alex's sock-clad feet, which were taking up most of the end cushion next to me.

"Scoot," he ordered gruffly, dragging their feet from the cushion and taking their place.

"You know, I think I'm more comfortable than that block of wood you're sitting on, Del Rossi. Come down here," he said, smiling that frustratingly charming smile of his. He put an arm around my waist and tugged gently, but I didn't budge.

"My dad's going to be home soon," I protested.

"So? 'Soon' is enough time. Let's enjoy it while we can, before we have to back to pretending we only talk to each other on the odd Saturday morning," he pouted. Oh no.

"No, Dylan…I'm not taking any chances," I held my ground. I was starting to slip, though. Why did he have to be so adorable? Aw, and there was the protruding bottom lip. And the big sad eyes. Jerk. He knew I couldn't resist them. Besides, the puppy pout look was supposed to be mine. Not only was he a jerk, he was a thief, too.

"But we'll hear him come in," reasoned Dylan. "Please? Just sit here with me? Come on, you owe me for making me go through all this in the first place."

I sighed. _Oh forget it. I surrender. _The adorable jerk/thief had won this round. "Fine." Though I pretended to do so only reluctantly, I was actually quite happy to slide down off the arm of the couch into Dylan's lap, where he immediately wrapped his arms around me. I had to admit, if only to myself, that it relaxed me considerably more than the shower and nap I'd originally been planning on could have. Dylan was just like that. He could make everything around you freeze for a minute so you could breathe. Sometimes I didn't know what I'd do without him.

I felt his lips peck my cheek, and the corners of my mouth twitch upward grudgingly. This was all going to have to vanish soon. My dad would be back, and my comfort would be gone. For now, though, I allowed myself to relax into my boyfriend. He had been right, he was more comfortable than the arm of the couch.

"So, what brings you guys here out of the blue? We haven't seen you in forever," I addressed my two friends, suddenly remembering that they were still in the room.

"Well, we were at Spinner and Jimmy's shop… Alex was helping out today, too…and we decided to stop by here to see you guys," said Paige brightly. Something in the _Squatch Designs_ manager's voice caught my suspicion. Call me paranoid if you will, but I was sure there was something not quite right.

"Really? So how are Spin and Jimmy?" I asked. I hadn't seen my other two best friends in a while, either.

"They're good," said Paige, she hesitated for a moment, and I nearly rolled my eyes. _Here it comes…_

"There _was _a little incident in the back of the shop, though, the place where the T-shirts are actually made."

"What happened?"

"Well, I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but apparently there was a fire," said Paige.

"What? Are you serious?!" I demanded, my jaw dropping.

"She is, we had to help clean up yesterday. All that work and we didn't even get to _see_ the fire. From what Jimmy said, it was pretty impressive," complained Alex. This time I did roll my eyes.

"So is everyone okay?"

Paige nodded. "Yeah, no one was hurt, thank God, but it's going to take some time and money to repair the damages. It was pretty secluded, but they're not going to be able to work back there until it's all fixed up."

"Wow. So what are they going to do in the meantime?" I asked, noticing how Paige's eyes suddenly seemed to dance around mine.

"Well, there was supposed to be a sale this weekend. You know, for the holidays? They don't want to cancel it, but the part of the shop where they do all the background stuff is ruined. Half the stuff back there was burnt to ashes, and the other half looks like someone threw it on a barbecue pit. It's all black and it smells like smoke. They need to replace their merchandise, figure out costs, get everything together for the sale...and they need a place to do it."

"And that place would be?" I said, starting to get an idea of what this whole thing was about, including the impromptu visit.

"I was kind of hoping it might be here," she said, wincing.

"Here?" I repeated. Why was it always _here?_

Paige had obviously planned on having to convince me, because she immediately launched into excuses.

"Jimmy can't do it at his house, his parents are having relatives stay from out of town, and they don't want the chaos. Spinner's mom is doing some important work thing, and she doesn't want anyone around to disturb her― she practically kicked Spinner out…And none of the other employees can do it either. The sale starts Saturday, and if they don't find someplace to work…well, they don't know what they're going to do."

_So when in doubt, you call Marco? _A weird sound escaped me somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

"Dylan?" I consulted my boyfriend.

He shrugged. "I don't mind, if you don't." I wanted to hit him.

"Yeah, all right. They can do it here," I agreed, against my better judgment.

"Great! I'll tell Jimmy and Spinner," squealed Paige.

"Wait, shouldn't we ask Ellie first?" Right on cue, we heard the door bang open and Ellie's voice ring through the house.

"Hello? Anybody home?"

"In here, El," I called back to her. She was in an unusually good mood, I observed. Her smile didn't even falter when she saw Paige stretched out on the couch. I was about to ask her what had her so atypically cheerful, when I remembered that today was Tuesday. _The Core_ writers had gotten their new assignments today, which meant that she had been in their classroom office. Which meant that the editor of the paper had been there as well. Which, in turn, meant a very happy Ellie Nash.

"So, how was your day?" I asked, her infectious grin starting to spread to me.

She shrugged, perching herself on the arm I had vacated. This surprised me: normally she would have made some biting remark and shoved Paige (along with Alex, they were so tangled together) the rest of the way off the couch. She must have really had fun with Jesse. "Fine. Just a typical day."

"And by a typical day you mean classes, homework, and secret steamy make out sessions with one Jesse Stefonovic?"

She glared at me, flushing a rosy pink. "Shut up."

"Are you going to ask her? Alex and I have to get going, and we need something to tell Spinner," interjected Paige. I was pleased that she had forwent her usual icy insult, as well.

"Ask me what?" asked Ellie, glancing from me to Paige uncertainly.

"Spinner and Jimmy need a place to get everything ready for a sale this weekend. That includes replacing the merchandise that was lost in the fire they had at the shop," I said.

Ellie's eyes widened. "There was a _fire?"_

"A small one. No one was hurt. But they need a place to work. And by _a _place I mean _this_ place."

Ellie nodded. "Okay, when?"

"Tomorrow, if possible. Around…three o'clock?" answered Paige.

"Okay. Whatevski," Ellie shrugged again. Right then I had a feeling she was lost so deeply within the mazes of cloud nine that she would have said yes if Paige had requested a place to train a circus elephant.

My dad got back not long after Paige and Alex left. I was slightly relieved that he wasn't going to walk in and see the two of them curled up on the couch together. The thought shouldn't have made me so nervous, but I was still unaccountably glad that they'd left when they did.

My father had brought Chinese home with him, and over the thankfully comfortable meal, I explained to him what was taking place tomorrow.

"So you might want to clear out for a few hours. Escape the chaos," I advised. I half-wished I could do the same, but figured I should stay and help out my friends.

"Or, I could stay and give you all a hand, if you need an extra pair of hands," my dad offered, shoveling chicken chow mein into his mouth.

"I think we're all right. You don't have to help," I assured him hurriedly. The less time he spent in the presence of my friends, the better. There were too many things that could go wrong. He just shrugged.

Sighing, I reached for a fortune cookie across the table. Unfortunately, it was closer to the other side than my side, and my fingers fell just short of the desired object. Dylan, who was sitting opposite me tonight, spotted me reaching for it and came to my aid.

"Here." When he handed it to me, I felt his fingers brush mine a bit more than was strictly necessary, and glanced reflexively at my dad. Ellie had conveniently chosen that moment to engage him in a conversation about some article she'd written recently. He seemed genuinely interested, and I made a mental note to thank her later.

The small, simple touch may not have been much, but every little indication, every gesture, sent off warning bells in my head. I shouldn't have been so paranoid, I suppose; it wasn't as though my dad was actively looking for the signs. I recalled a movie I had seen a few weeks prior with Spinner. It had been an action movie, concerning some assassin and the FBI, and during one scene, the assassin had discreetly passed a gun to his accomplice in the presence of several FBI agents. The camera had zoomed right in so we couldn't miss the small transaction. Now, it felt like the camera was pointed at Dylan and I, always watching, never missing a move. Who wouldn't be a bit paranoid under the circumstances?

I cracked open the fortune cookie Dylan had handed me and shoved a fragment into my mouth. I glanced down at the little slip of paper that supposedly foretold my future.

_All will be revealed in due time. _

_All will be revealed._ I had never set much store in things such as astrology, horoscopes, predicting the future… but this particular time I couldn't help but wonder about the accuracy of the little slip of paper.

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**A/N: Okay, next chapter was originally supposed to be more of a Darco-based one, but that doesn't seem likely to happen now. But there will be a very Darco-ish Darco-based chapter soon ****:) Reviewing will get it here faster (maybe) and come on, Marco and Dylan are dying here, don't you want to put them out of their misery and let them have a moment? **


	5. Wednesday

**Um…yeah, so a couple things. First, I know the sale thing was supposed to be for the holidays, and it's no longer the holidays in real life, but whatever. It still is in the story. Second, sorry for the long update wait. There are times when I have the time and inspiration to write for three hours a day every day for weeks, and then there are times when I can't find the time or inspiration to write a good sentence to save my life. So this last month or so has been like that. Third, I have a small treat to make up for the wait. Well, a treat for Darco-lovers anyway. I couldn't resist writing it in. So here it is, hope it was worth the wait…**

Wednesday

How _Squatch Designs _managed to function as a store was far beyond me. I had never known a shop to be so disorganized. Then again, Jimmy and Spinner ran said shop, so I guess it shouldn't have been so surprising that even their employees seemed to have no idea what was supposed to be happening. Crackdown work sessions― if you can call them that― were not the sort of orderly event you might think. On the contrary, 'chaotic' was about the only word that could be used to describe them.

"Spinner…_Spinner!…_where do you want these boxes?" I called, peeking around the packages in my arms at my friend, who was barking instructions and giving assignments left and right. It was a struggle to be heard over everyone else, so much so that one typically had to resort to plain out shouting.

"Uh, just somewhere over there," he replied, waving vaguely in the direction of the couch. I sighed, and lugged the rather immense load to the sofa, where I nearly ran head-on into Paige, who was headed the other way with a box of T-shirts.

"Oh, sorry hun," she apologized, trying to peer over the top of the stack of boxes. I straightened the pile I had brought over so that it wouldn't fall, and turned around, prepared to fight my way across the living room back to Spinner for another job.

"Hey, Marco―" I glanced over my shoulder to see Jimmy rolling toward me.

"Yeah?"

"When's your dad getting here?" he asked.

I checked my watch. Nearly five-thirty. "Any minute."

Jimmy nodded. "Great, we could use him." I wanted to tell him that my father, despite good intentions, was a lot more help when he was not actually helping, but I was already tired of yelling and figured I should only do so when absolutely necessary.

"Oh, by the way, Dylan's looking for you in the kitchen," Jimmy added. I gave a short nod to acknowledge that I heard him and began to make my way through the people, boxes, and paperwork to the kitchen, and my boyfriend. It was mercifully less crowded in there, and my eyes immediately scanned the room for him. After sweeping the room twice and seeing no sign of him, I went to poke my head out the doorway into the hall.

"Dyl?" I stepped fully into the hallway, looking up and down it and seeing no one at all. Suddenly, I felt something large and heavy collide with my back. It didn't hurt, but it definitely took me by surprise. Before I knew what was happening, I was being spun around and shoved up against the wall, and a body was pressing itself against mine. For someone who had basically just attacked me, the person was surprisingly gentle when he leaned down to capture my lips in a hungry kiss I had no trouble at all in recognizing as Dylan's. I was as starved for his lips as he was mine, and I kissed him back eagerly for a moment, before remembering that we were standing in the middle of the hallway in a house full of people that would soon― if it didn't already― include my dad. Forcing myself to break the kiss, I pushed my much larger boyfriend off of me with some difficulty. He smiled down at me, and it was that extremely irritating, tantalizing grin that made me want to shove _him_ against a wall and wipe the smirk off his lips with my own.

"What did you need?" I asked, struggling to regain some composure, not to mention a normal breathing pattern.

"What?" His forehead crinkled in confusion.

"Jimmy said you were looking for me."

"Oh, yeah, well― this is all I wanted," he shrugged.

I shook my head, giggling. "You just wanted to make out with me?"

"Pretty much."

"We're supposed to be helping," I reminded him.

He shrugged again. "I did help. I handed Jimmy a box earlier."

I laughed. "Well, don't strain yourself, then. But seriously, my dad's going to be here any minute, if he's not already."

Dylan immediately sobered up. "So?" he whined.

"What do you mean 'so'? So I don't want him to walk in here and find us playing tongue hockey."

"Then I guess that means I don't get to 'score'?" he joked. I rolled my eyes. "Marco, you've got to tell him sooner or later."

"I know," I chewed my lip, averting my eyes. "I'd just rather it was later." I smiled when I felt him peck me on the cheek.

"What was that for?" I asked, looking up. He was always doing that, just little pecks and kisses here and there, usually for no other reason than that he felt like it. Which was just fine by me. Those little out-of-the-blue kisses were the best kind. Making out was always hot― and with Dylan, amazing― but I had always found the affectionate little pecks to be even more special. Anyone could kiss you, caught up in a passionate moment, but simple, just-because gestures like Dylan's made you smile whenever, wherever.

"I need a reason?" he asked, laughing. "All right: because I love you; because I always want to remember what you taste like; because you're so cute; because I'm supposed to be sorting T-shirts and I'm looking for any excuse not to…"

"Oh, thanks, that makes me feel so special," I said in mock indignation, giving him a playful shove.

He grinned, pulling me back to him and nuzzling our foreheads together. "But mostly the first three."

"Now that you mention it, though, you should be sorting T-shirts, and I should be doing…something besides this. We better get back to work," I said, my voice lacking any real motivation. Dylan groaned.

"Come on, it's not that bad," I said, though as I didn't really believe it myself, it didn't come out sounding very convincing.

"Marco, there you are!" Peeking over Dylan's shoulder at the figure in the doorway to the kitchen, I saw it was Paige.

"We're coming," I promised.

"I just wanted to give you a heads up, your dad just got here," she said.

"All right. Thanks." She nodded and disappeared into the throng of people that had just entered the kitchen.

I released Dylan and stepped away from him. "Okay, it just got bad."

DARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCO

"Hey, dad. How was work?" I asked casually, locating him back in the living room, in the corner stacking boxes.

"Was fine. How was school?" he asked.

"Fine," I shrugged. Okay, so it had been a total snooze-fest, but 'fine' was just a lot simpler to say.

"This lot of work. I didn't know their shop was doing so well," he said, heaving the last box on top of the stack and straightening up.

"Yeah, they've been doing pretty good. Did you know Paige is their manager now?"

"Really? Where is Paige, anyway? I wanted to talk to her," said my dad, his eyes sweeping the room for her.

"Uh, I think she just went into the kitchen again," I said, surveying him carefully. "Why, what did you want to talk to her about?"

He shrugged. "Nothing in particular. Just wanted to say hello." I had my doubts about that, but I said nothing. Then I noticed a blonde head making it's way through the room.

"Hey, actually, she just came back in. She's over by the door, see her?" I pointed my friend out. My dad squinted and spotted her, too.

"I'm going to go say hello to her," he decided. I watched him go, and suddenly I was struck by an idea. I hurried through the crowd to another stack of boxes near the door, where Paige and my dad were conversing. I crouched down behind them and strained my ears to listen.

"So, I heard you're the manager for this _Squatch Designs _store," my dad was saying.

Paige nodded. "Yeah, well Spinner said they needed someone to take care of all the practical stuff, and I figured that since I'm not a full-time student anymore, it was something at least…"

"Weren't you attending Banting?" I nearly groaned at the topic he had broached. _Oh no, go back, go back, not that… _

Paige's expression faltered, but just for a second. "Well, I was, but I― I dropped out."

"Of Banting? Why would you do that?" my dad demanded in a shocked tone. I didn't think he meant it to come out sounding so reprimanding, but it did. Apparently, he felt some insatiable need to affront everyone I cared about.

Paige seemed to be struggling to keep her cool. "Because― Banting…it wasn't for me. I'll be starting at Toronto U. next semester, though. It's closer to home, to my friends…"

"Oh, so you wanted to be closer to the people here? Anyone in particular?" _Here we go. _

Paige shrugged. "Well, there's one person…"

"Really? A _"special"_ person?" hinted my dad. _Oh, God. Please just let him shut up. _

Paige smiled. "Kind of," she admitted.

"Who is he?" My heart skipped a few beats, and I leaned closer to them, curious as to what Paige's response would be.

"Well, the…person's name is Alex," she said matter-of-factly. I grinned. She hadn't lied, just told a rather misleading truth. I silently commended her for that one.

"Oh," said my dad, looking rather deflated. _Ha ha. _

"So, Paige, are you and Marco still good friends?" Apparently he wasn't giving up.

Paige looked confused, but answered anyway. "Yeah, we're really close. He's practically my brother," she added. She had the slightest sliver of a smile on her face when she said this, and I might has well have been reading her mind. I knew what she was thinking, and I smiled too. _Someday he might be. Brother-in-law. _

"So, you two never…?"

"No," said Paige at once, laughing. "Definitely not. Marco's my best friend, and that's it. Besides, he's…"

"I know, I know, I just wondered," my dad said gruffly.

"Right. Well, I've got some paperwork waiting for me. We've still got a lot to do," she said, excusing herself.

I waited for my dad to disappear, then set off after Paige. I caught her in the kitchen, leaning over some paperwork on the counter and scribbling something.

"Paige…" She looked up quickly, then returned her attention to the paperwork.

"Hey, hon."

"I heard you and my dad talking," I confessed, coming over to lean back against the counter beside her.

She chuckled. "Was it my imagination, or was he trying to set us up or something?"

I rolled my eyes. "It definitely wasn't your imagination. He tried the same crap with me about Ellie the other day, too."

Paige winced sympathetically, setting her pen down on the paper and turning to face me. "He's just…in a sort of denial. He's trying to look for anything that'll―"

"Turn me back?" I offered.

She sighed. "Yeah. Look, my parents did the same thing with Dyl. He'll come around― eventually. He'll realize that this is who you are, and nothing is going to change that. And he'll be okay with it," she promised.

"I hope you're right, Paige."

"Aren't I always?"

I arched an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, aren't I _usually?"_ she said in exasperation.

I continued to stare at her.

"Well, I'm right about this, okay?" she snapped irritably. I laughed and held open my arms.

"C'mere." She returned the hug happily, and I smiled.

"Just so you know, you're like my sister, too," I said softly, and I felt her squeeze me a little tighter.

"Hey, Paige, you're like a sister to me, too," said another voice. I released Paige and laughed.

"And you're definitely like a brother to me, Dylan," Paige assured him, giving him a quick hug, as well. "Right down to the way you annoy the hell out me."

"Back at you, sis." I rolled my eyes at them. Neither seemed to be the least bit insulted, as though being told they were annoying was the greatest form of respect and reverence known to humanity. Siblings were weird. Or at least, the Michalchuk siblings were.

"Hey, who knows, someday Marco might really be my brother. Well, brother-in-law," said Paige, grinning at Dylan and me. We exchanged glances. Dylan's eyes twinkled, and I had a feeling that we were both thinking along the same lines. It was a definite possibility.

"Hey, I'm not paying you guys to stand around and chat." Spinner strode over, a heavy-looking box in his arms. "Here." He handed the box to Dylan, who raised his eyebrows at him. "This goes by the couch. Marco, there's some shirts that need folding in front of the coffee table. And Paige, Jimmy needs that paperwork you're supposed to be doing." Dylan, Paige, and I all watched as Spinner marched into the living room and began ordering more people around.

"I didn't know we were getting paid," Dylan muttered.

"We're not," I answered back.

"Guess I'd better get this to Jimmy, then," said Paige, snatching the paperwork off the counter and heading into the living room herself. I saw Spinner near the TV, looking rather frightened as Alex advanced on him, yelling, and apparently quite angry. I watched her lips carefully, and made out something like, _"If you tell me to fold those damn T-shirts one more time…" _

I laughed. "Looks like Spinner needs some help. Know anyone who can take Alex?"

Dylan chuckled, shifting the box in his arms. "Yeah, but it might take a while for my entire hockey team to get here."

"Hey, Dylan?"

"Yeah?"

I grinned. "You Michalchuk's are pretty cool."

He grinned back. "We know it."

And with that, we headed back into the circus that was our living room. The show wasn't over yet.

………….

**Plus, there's still that Darco chapter next :D But I am prepared to hold it ransom unless you pay me off in reviews first. So, unless you want Darco to split up after a huge argument next chapter, review. **

**J/K, I could never split them up. Darco's way too awesome. But please review anyways. ;) **


	6. Thursday

**A/N: Hey guys. So I decided to release the Darco chapter, lol. Thanks for all the awesome reviews, they made me so happy :D Just so you don't say "WTF― where's the Darco!?" or something when you start reading this, I'll warn you there is a little non-darco-ness in the beginning. Sorry. I don't like it any more than you do. But they definitely get their "moment" in this chapter ;) This was actually the only chapter I really had in mind before I started writing, and it changed a bit when I was writing it, so I hope it turned out okay anyway, and is Darco-y enough. :D **

Thursday

"You know what? Next time _Squatch Designs _needs a place to work, I'm skipping town," said Dylan, as the last of the boxes of T-shirts was carried off. As it turned out, Paige had left out the part of the request to provide a workspace that required us to allow them to use our house as a storage space overnight. After eating breakfast on the kitchen floor, sitting on boxes to watch TV, and shoving past piles of everything else they'd left here to reach the front door, I wasn't sorry to see it all go.

"And I'm coming with you," I groaned.

"Count me in," Ellie agreed. We were all standing around our newly uncovered living room, watching Spinner and Paige finish loading up the van they'd borrowed from Paige's parents, while Alex impatiently honked the horn at them and Jimmy looked miserable in the passenger seat. Once the van had pulled out of our driveway, I turned to my roommates.

"Well, I've got hockey practice in about half an hour, so I'm going to get going," said Dylan. He glanced at me, hesitating.

I gave a slightly exasperated sigh, but smiled, immediately relenting. "Real quick."

He smiled, pleased, and gave me a swift but pleasant kiss. "I'll be back soon."

"See you." As Dylan headed upstairs to grab his hockey bag, Ellie made for the door.

"And where are you going?" I asked as she pulled her jacket off the hook by the front door.

"Out. Have you seen my keys?" she asked breathlessly.

"Um, yeah, they're on the counter by the coffee pot," I answered slowly, my curiosity growing. "But where are you going?"

She grinned. _"The Core _assignment, then we're getting coffee afterwards." She walked briskly into the kitchen to grab her keys, and I followed at her heel.

"And I'm guessing by the smile on your face 'we' doesn't mean you and Eric…" I said, putting two and two together.

"Nope."

I laughed. "Have fun with Jesse."

She dropped her keys into her pocket, her smile widening. "Thanks. Have fun with your dad."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically. She gave a cheery, almost Paige-like wave, and left.

Since I was now able to get to the fridge without climbing over half a dozen boxes, I figured now was a good time to have lunch. Dylan appeared in the doorway just as I was sitting down with a sandwich and a can of soda.

"Just a warning, your dad's coming downstairs as we speak," Dylan muttered, touching my shoulder as he passed me. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as another kiss good-bye, but it would have to do for now. Just as I heard the front door slam, my dad strode into the kitchen. He collapsed into a chair, looking wearier than I'd seen him look all week.

"Hey dad, you okay?"

He nodded. "I'm fine, Marco."

I wasn't fooled. "Um, dad…have you… thought about calling Ma?" I broached the topic cautiously.

"I've thought about it. I haven't yet," he admitted.

"What are you waiting for?"

He shook his head. "I'm waiting for― I don't know. I don't think we're ready to talk about it yet," he said heavily.

"What was your fight about, anyway?" I inquired. My parents had their little squabbles, they bickered and argued like all couples, but they rarely ever really _fought. _I couldn't imagine what could be so bad that my mother would feel it necessary to kick my father out of the house.

My dad waved a hand. "I don't want to go into it. We both just need cooling off time."

"How― how _much _cooling off time, exactly?" I asked nervously.

He shrugged. "Until we are ready to face each other and talk out our problems like adults."

"Why can't you and Ma talk it out now? This is killing you. And I know she misses you, too," I said, genuinely concerned for the both of them.

He shook his head. "Marco― no. I know you're trying to help, but you're just― you're too young to understand these things."

"What things, exactly?" I asked, the slightest hint of indignation creeping into my voice.

"Things like this. Relationship problems," he explained.

"Right, cause I've never been in a relationship." I really, _really _hadn't meant to say that. It was as though my brain had temporarily lost control of my mouth. Disastrous things tended to take place when that happened.

My words had caught his attention. "And who have you ever been in a relationship with?"

I hesitated for a split second. _The gorgeous blonde you've been living with all week. _"Ellie. High school. Freshman year, remember?" _Nice save. _

My dad rolled his eyes. "I meant a serious relationship. You have no idea… you're only eighteen."

I let out a low breath. _Oh, I understand… more than you know. _"Right, dad. You're…you're absolutely right."

DARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCO

Thursday Night

The house was completely silent. And by completely I mean_ completely_. My clock had stopped working, so there wasn't even the steady _tick, tick _I had grown accustomed to to pierce the intense quiet. It was silent, and cold, and the stupid bed I was lying in was incredibly uncomfortable. Dumb mattress. If you could call the thing a mattress. It felt more like a giant slab of rock. How was anyone supposed to sleep on the thing? It was surprising the company that made it was still in business. Maybe I'd call their customer service hot line or whatever tomorrow and give them a piece of my mind. Or, even better, the medical bills once I got my spine examined. No doubt it was now damaged beyond repair.

For the third time that night, I sat up, flipped my pillow over, and rolled to the other side of the bed. And for the third time that night, I found it wasn't any more comfortable than the other side. There really wasn't all that much room to roll over too far, anyway. I was already on the verge of falling off. Just another thing I hated about this stupid bed.

Another thing I hated was the fact that there was no Dylan in it.

I moaned and buried my head in my pillow. Well, I'm calling it mine. Actually, it's Dylan's. I had taken it with me when I'd brought the rest of my stuff here. I usually ended up on his side of the bed, anyway, and therefore on his pillow. Plus, it smelled just like him, and that was my one source of comfort in this other room. I wondered if he'd even noticed it was gone yet.

A loud 'creak' outside my door in the hallway brought me out of my musings on my comfortless bed. I was surprised; who was up at this time of night? Well, besides me, thanks to my Flintstone-aged boulder bed mattress?

I was even more surprised when I heard my door open slowly. I rolled back over to see who was disturbing me. It was almost pitch-black, with the only light coming from a street lamp outside my window, but I immediately recognized the figure in my doorway.

"Dylan, what are you doing in here?" I grumbled, sitting up. He closed the door quietly and crept over. He reached my bed, and instead of sitting down on top of the covers, he pulled them back and slid in next to me.

"Sleeping," he answered simply.

"Dylan, you have to get out," I whispered urgently.

"Why?"

"Because, my dad is here! Or did you forget that he's been staying with us since _Monday?"_ I hissed, trying to keep my voice down.

"So? He's all the way down the hall. And, he's sleeping," Dylan argued, scooting closer to me.

I moaned in frustration. This was not supposed to happen. Dylan was messing up my entire plan. The carefully constructed plan which included my dad not finding out about the two of us until I was thirty.

"Dylan…" I laid back down and dropped my head onto his shoulder. Oddly, even with the additional person in it, the bed no longer seemed too small. And the temperature in the room seemed to have gone up, too. I had missed Dylan's warmth.

"You need to go," I said without any real conviction in my voice. I honestly didn't want him to go.

"But I miss you," he said quietly. "And your bed's more comfortable."

I almost snorted. _"My _bed is more comfortable? Are you kidding me?" But I had to admit, even the rock didn't seem so horrible anymore.

"Hey, is this my pillow?" Dylan demanded suddenly, sitting up and knocking my head off his shoulder in the process.

"Yeah…I kind of took it," I said guiltily. "Sorry."

He shrugged. "I don't mind. I like yours better anyway. It smells like you." I smiled. Dylan gazed down at me, and I squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

"What are you looking at?" I asked. I didn't really mind the staring, but I was curious as to what he could find so fascinating.

He shook his head. "You're just so beautiful in the moonlight." He leaned over me to kiss me gently.

"Um, Dylan?" I said when we broke apart.

"Yeah?"

"There is no moon tonight."

Dylan grinned, looking as guilty as I had a few moments ago. "All right, I heard that in a movie once," he confessed.

"Which movie?"

He paused. "Okay, I'm lying. I read it in one of Paige's romance novels."

I laughed. _"You_ read romance novels? Are you serious? Cheesy, sappy lines and all?"

"Yeah, and if that ever leaves this room…" he began.

"You'll do what?" I challenged.

He smirked. "Not you."

I giggled. "Jerk."

Dylan leaned over me again so that his arms were propping him up on either side of me.

"Yeah? What are you going to do about it?"

I reached up behind his neck and pulled him to me, and despite my misgivings, kissed him. I hadn't gotten enough of Dylan's kisses over the past few days.

"I can live with that," Dylan joked. He kissed me again, and I didn't have the heart or the willpower to stop him. I tried to hold on to the little voice in the back of my mind that was telling me that this was a bad idea, but it was quickly fading. He gently parted my lips with his own and deepened our kiss, and it shut up completely.

Our kisses were growing more passionate, our hands were beginning to wander, and we were both becoming more and more lustful. I was already shirtless as it was, something that Dylan was taking full advantage at that moment as he kissed slowly down my chest, but it was one of the rare occasions he had worn a shirt to bed. I halted him in his actions just long enough to pull the navy T-shirt over his head. A definite bonus of having a hockey player for a boyfriend was the amazing athletic body that came along. Dylan was, in my opinion, the perfect example of 'too sexy for a shirt.'

He licked his lips and came back up for another needy kiss, playfully nipping at my bottom lip. One of my hands was tangled in Dylan's locks, and he had pinned my other wrist to the bed. He'd slipped his leg in between my thighs, and I knew he could feel my desire just as easily as I could feel his. This was already starting to go too far, but I still didn't stop him.

"God, Dylan…" I moaned into our kiss. His hands were all over me, his lips were crashing into mine, everything was just spinning out of our control. But it wasn't until his hand brushed the front of my pants that I grabbed his wrist with my free hand, preventing him from going any further.

"Dylan, we can't do this now," I said breathlessly. It was taking every ounce of self-control I possessed to stop this here.

"Your dad's sleeping, Marco," he whispered back. "And I'm horny," he added as an afterthought.

I fought to keep a straight face. If I laughed, he would see it as a weak point and use my vulnerability― him― to his advantage. And then it would all be over. Resistance would be utterly futile.

"I know the feeling, but we still can't. What if he wakes up? What if he hears something? According to Ellie, we're not exactly quiet. He may be clueless most of the time, but I think he'll be able to figure out what's going on in here if he wakes up."

"We can be quiet." He was pouting again, big innocent puppy eyes and all.

I shook my head. "Dylan― it's too risky."

"No risk, no reward," he muttered, abandoning the innocent pout and going for irresistible instead. He leaned close so that his lips were hovering just above mine, not quite touching them.

Then it happened again. My brain's signal to my mouth was lost somewhere in transmission, and instead of my lips forming the words _'we can't' _they just ended up pressed against Dylan's and I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to. I tried not to make a sound as his hands and lips and tongue wandered over my body. He, in turn, was biting his lip to prevent a single noise from escaping him.

It didn't take long for both our pants to join Dylan's shirt. Something in the very back of my mind was again screaming at me that doing this here and now was a serious lapse in judgment, but then I felt him touch me and all reservations were immediately erased from my mind.

When he finally entered me, it was all I could do not to moan. When he started moving inside me, I was pretty sure I'd cut my lip biting down on it so hard. The boulder bed had creaked a couple of times, and there was a moment when Dylan had lost control and groaned, but I was certain no one could have possibly heard us.

When it was all over, he rolled off me and lay, panting heavily, beside me.

"See?" he gasped. "Told you­ that― that we could― be quiet."

I chuckled and rolled over so that I was facing him, and he put his arm around me to pull me closer to him. I thought I might be able to sleep in the Flintstone bed now. I closed my eyes and curled as close as I could to Dylan. He kissed my forehead, reaching up to brush a few strands of my hair back from my face.

"Night, Dyl," I muttered sleepily into his chest.

"Night, honey."

It was the best damn night of sleep I'd had all week.

**A/N: So, how was it? I couldn't resist putting the Dylan calling Marco 'honey' part in there, lol. I thought it was so cute when he called him that in MD, even though they were fighting at the time. It makes them sound like a married couple, lol. You know, I think someone said at the beginning in a review that they could see Marco and Dylan sneaking into each other's rooms, hehe. I guess Darco-loving minds think alike ;) **


	7. Friday

**A/N: New chapter (obviously) ****:) I really struggled with this one, so I hope it's not too bad. The reason for me having so much trouble with it probably had something to do with the fact that I had absolutely **_**no**_** idea what was going to happen in the chapter when I started writing it, lol. I usually have some idea, but I just made this up as I went along. **

Friday

I awoke the next morning completely refreshed after a good night's sleep. Dylan was still sleeping peacefully next to me, and I smiled. Careful not to wake him, I slid out of bed and found my discarded pants. As I pulled them on, I heard a groan from behind me, and spun around.

"Do you have to put those on?" Dylan whined.

"I didn't know you were up," I said in surprise, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"For about a half an hour. I just didn't want to move. I love your bed," he said, stretching.

I arched an eyebrow. "Well, next time my dad visits, you can sleep in it."

"Only if you sleep in it with me," he replied, grinning. "So anyway, about this wearing pants thing…"

"I'm wearing pants, Dylan."

"Fine. Be that way," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and pretending to be hurt. "But you pull off a birthday suit way better." I rolled my eyes.

"What time is it?" Dylan asked, glancing at my clock. The batteries had given out a few days prior, and now it constantly read five after three.

"I don't know. Looks pretty early still," I answered, judging from the pale morning light spilling in from my window.

"Cool. I don't have a class till noon," he said. "Come back down here. We don't have to get up yet," He reached up and pulled me down on top of him. I nestled my head in his chest, and he rested his chin on the top of my head.

"If we stay here I'm going to fall back asleep," I said, my eyes already drifting close.

"So?"

"So nothing. Just saying."

We never got the chance, however. There was a sharp knock at the door, and I felt alarm surge through me.

"Who is it?" I called apprehensively.

"Me," replied Ellie's voice, and I relaxed.

"Just a minute."

I got up off Dylan and tossed his pants to him. "Here, put some pants on." When he was clothed, I pulled open the door.

"Hey, El."

"Hey. I'm leaving in about five minutes, but I wanted to tell you before I left. Jesse and I are going out tonight, and we thought maybe you and Dylan would want to double? We're seeing a movie then getting something to eat. He's picking me up at seven, so if you guys want to come…"

"Yeah, sounds good. I'll ask Dyl," I said.

"Where is Dylan, anyway? His door was open, but he isn't in his room," asked Ellie.

I pushed the door open a little wider so that she could see the bed from the doorway. Dylan held up a hand in greeting, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, that explains why your pants are on backwards," said Ellie, glancing down. I looked down, too, and saw that she was right. Oops.

"I'm going to go, then. I'll see you guys later," she said, heading down the hall as she spoke.

"Bye," I called after her. I shut the door again and quickly fixed my pants, then sat back down on the bed, collapsing sideways on top of my boyfriend.

"So? You want to go?" I asked him, reaching up to twist a blonde curl around my finger.

He shrugged. "Sure, why not? What are we seeing?"

"Knowing the two of them? Some foreign movie with sub-titles."

"Great. Reading a movie. Just what I want to do," grumbled Dylan. I pulled my head up off him suddenly.

"Who said anything about reading?" I asked, trailing a finger suggestively down his arm. Dylan grinned, catching on.

"Back row seats?"

"You bet."

Another heavy rap on the door interrupted us. Figuring it was Ellie coming back to tell me something she had forgot to mention, I got up again and opened the door.

It wasn't Ellie.

Fear-induced adrenaline pumping through my veins, I quickly stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind me. "Dad…uh, hi. Um, what's up?" I stammered.

He gave me a weird look. "What's going on in there?"

"Huh? What do you mean? What's going on where? What?" Well, at least I was able to keep my cool.

"In your room," he answered, throwing me another suspicious glare.

"There's nothing going on in my room," I said. _This morning, anyway. _

He looked from me to the door behind me and back. "What's with you? Is there something in there you don't want me to see?"

"No. Of course not. Just― it's kind of messy, and, you know…" I trailed off. Suddenly, taking me by surprise, he pushed past me and threw open the door. If it was possible for your heart to beat so violently that you broke a rib, I think I would have accomplished that feat right then. I held my breath and braced myself for the worst.

But it didn't come.

I followed him into my room, and did a quick sweep of it. Dylan had miraculously disappeared. I was too relieved to even be angry with my father for barging into my room in my own house. I bit my lip as my dad's eyes scanned the small space. I saw him arch an eyebrow at the male underwear catalog I had left lying on my desk. I blushed. Well, that wasn't awkward.

"I thought I heard talking," he confessed. "Maybe I'm going senile and hearing things in my old age, eh, Marco?" he joked.

I gave a fake but convincing enough laugh, my heart still beating furiously against my rib cage. "Maybe, Dad. You are getting up there in years," I teased. "Anyway, did you need something?"

"Actually, yes. I wanted toast for breakfast, but I can't figure out how to work the toaster," he said, furrowing his brow in obvious puzzlement.

This time I laughed for real, shaking my head. "I'll be there to help in a minute, dad. Just let me grab a shirt and I'll be right down," I promised. He thanked me, then left me alone. Well, not quite alone.

"Dylan, you can come out of the closet now. He's gone," I said. There was a commotion behind the closet door, then Dylan stumbled out.

"You know, I spent half my life in there, I never thought I'd be back in again," he joked. "Look what I found." He held up a stuffed bumblebee he'd found in the closet. I chuckled, immediately recognizing the furry insect. Dylan had gotten it for me once when I was sick.

"I forgot about old Bumbleina," I said. "Do you still have that whale I got you?"

"Marco Jr.? Yeah, I think he's in our closet," said Dylan.

"I forgot you named it that," I giggled.

"What? There's no good names like 'Bumbleina' for a whale," said Dylan defensively. He tossed the bee on my bed and yawned. "Well, I'm going to go take a shower."

"I've got to help my dad learn how to use the toaster, then I'm taking one, too. _Alone," _I added at the hopeful look Dylan gave me.

"Fine," he said again. "Be that way."

DARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCODARCO

As it turned out, Jesse and Ellie hadn't chosen a movie with sub-titles. Actually, I'm not entirely sure what we ended up seeing. It wasn't as though Dylan and I had watched any of it. To our credit, we made it past three whole previews before losing interest.

When the movie was over (which was far too soon for my liking) we all decided to stop by a little café Jesse knew of and grab something to eat. Dylan and I sat across from Ellie and Jesse, pretending to remember the parts of the movie they were discussing. From what they were saying, it actually sounded like it had been pretty good.

"And then that part where the girl just throws the drumstick at that other chick's head― I was nearly in tears!" Jesse exclaimed hysterically, taking a bite out of a fry. Ellie was laughing too, obviously enjoying Jesse's recap of the film.

Dylan gave a forced chuckle. "Yeah, that part was great. The whole movie was great. We should do this again sometime." I nodded in agreement.

"And maybe next time you'll even _watch _the movie," joked Ellie, and she and Jesse dissolved into another fit of giggles. I wasn't sure exactly what had been in their cups besides soda, but both of them were unaccountably giddy.

"Hey, I'll have you know that we―" I froze mid-sentence, every muscle in my body immediately tensing up. Everyone looked confused for a minute, before an all-too familiar voice greeted us.

"Marco! I didn't know you were going to be here!"

I smiled awkwardly up at my father. What was he doing here? This place was cool. He wasn't supposed to be here."Yeah well, here I am."

My dad's gaze traveled the table we were seated around, then to all our surprise, he slid into the booth next to Dylan, forcing our entire semi-circle of people to rearrange themselves.

"Um, dad…what are you doing here?" I asked.

"I'm getting something to eat," he said slowly. "Isn't that what you do in these places? So what have you all been up to tonight?"

"Just hanging out," I answered before anyone else got the chance to. "Nothing in particular."

"But we did see this awesome movie," interjected Jesse. "Well, _we _saw this awesome movie…" he gestured to himself and Ellie. _"They _spent the entire time in the back row making―"

"_Fun_ of the people in the other rows," Ellie interrupted swiftly. Jesse glanced at her, perplexed. Then suddenly his face contorted, and I was fairly certain Ellie had kicked him under the table.

My dad chuckled. "That sound fun. Hey, maybe I could come with you next time? I haven't seen good movie in a while," he suggested.

"Yeah dad, we should definitely do that." Ellie and Jesse exchanged glances, obviously trying not to laugh, while Dylan― the suck up― was smiling at my dad and looking enthusiastic. I tried to grin too, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"Great! Well, I should be getting back. It's almost time for bed," he glanced at his watch. He stood up, freeing a few extra feet of seat and allowing us all to space out a bit from each other. "You kids have fun. And be home by twelve," he added, nodding at me.

"Don't worry, sir. We'll have him home by eleven," promised Dylan. I glared at him. When my dad was safely out of the café and earshot, Dylan, Ellie, and Jesse all burst out laughing.

"Shut up, guys. It's not funny," I snapped, disgruntled. Where did my dad get off giving me a curfew, anyway? I wasn't a child. I didn't even live at home.

"Sure it is. To us," said Jesse, grinning widely.

"You better enjoy yourself, Marco. It's nine o'clock already. It's almost past your bedtime." taunted Ellie.

Dylan managed to fight his laughter under control, and threw an arm around my shoulders. "Aw, leave him alone, you guys. It's not his fault his dad treats him like a kid. I have to admit though, nine o'clock is pretty wild for you, you party animal."

Jesse snorted, and Ellie choked on her soda. I shoved Dylan's arm off of me and leaned back into the booth, sulking, my face burning. Ellie and Jesse were still snickering, but Dylan sobered up and dropped his hand to my knee.

"Hey, we were just joking," he said quietly. I shook my head. I knew that. The problem wasn't them, anyway. Sure, they were a little irritating, but that wasn't the real issue.

"Can we go outside for a minute?" I muttered back. He looked a little puzzled, but nodded and slid out of the booth. I followed him, and after a quick explanation to the other two― who were so engrossed with each other I doubted they even cared― we stepped outside the little café into the chilly winter air. I sighed, my breath visibly rising in little puffs in front of me.

"You okay?" Dylan asked softly. "Marco?"

"I don't know."

"What's wrong? Is it the stuff we were saying? Because we were just joking around. We'll stop if you want us to." We began walking along the sidewalk, careful not to stray too far from the café.

"It's not that…it's my dad."

"What about him?"

I stopped walking and turned to Dylan, tears of frustration and hopelessness beginning to well up in the backs of my eyes. This was a lose-lose situation all around.

"The fact that he _still _doesn't know about us. What Jesse almost said… about us making out in the back row? That could have blown everything right there."

Dylan shrugged. "Ellie stopped him."

"Yeah, _this_ time. But what about next time? Or the time after that? What about how he almost walked in and saw you half-naked in my bed today? That's not exactly how I'd choose to have him to find out."

We stepped out of the middle of the sidewalk as half a dozen or so middle-aged men and women passed by us, taking refuge near the brick side of the building that lined one side of the walkway.

Dylan furrowed his brow, leaning his shoulder against the wall. "I thought you didn't want him to find out at all?"

"I don't. But then I do. I don't know, it doesn't make sense. I just hate those moments where I'm sure he's going to find out, and in the worst way…it feels like I just stop breathing for a second." I sighed, staring off out into the street, where dozens of people living lives undoubtedly several hundred times less complicated than mine went about their business.

"If he does find out," I said slowly. "I want it to be because I tell him to his face, not because of some stupid slip-up. I'm sick of lying, I'm sick of hiding us… and then there are times I'd do anything to keep it all a secret," I gave a humorless smile. "And now I sound insane."

Dylan chuckled. "You don't sound insane, you sound scared. I don't blame you. I would be."

I groaned. "But I want him to know. I'm just waiting, I guess…for the right moment. Is that stupid?"

Dylan considered it. "No. I get that too. But Marco, there's never going to be a perfect moment. You just have to go for whatever moment you _have._ Trust me, 'when' you tell him isn't going to matter. It's still going to hit him hard."

I nodded slowly, mulling over what he'd just said. "Paige says he's in denial. And she's right. He just doesn't want to accept that this is the way I am. How can I make him accept something if he just flat out doesn't _want _to?"

"You can't," Dylan said. "All you can do is give him the facts: You're gay. You're dating me. Nothing is going to change the fact that you like guys. After that, it's all up to him. And hey, the worst blow's over with: he already knows you're gay."

I snorted. "Yeah, but he doesn't _accept _it. And he doesn't get that it's not going to change. He's been trying all week to get me with a girl…Ellie, Paige…"

"_Paige?" _said Dylan in disbelief, snickering. "So he tried to set up a gay guy with a gay girl? He makes a pretty lousy matchmaker."

I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it as well. "Yeah, gay, lesbian…it doesn't matter to him. _Adamo Del Rossi: uniting people from all colors of the rainbow."_ I was grinning, but my smile faded as I looked at Dylan. My wonderful, amazing boyfriend that I owed so much more than this secret relationship that made it seem as though I were ashamed of him, of us.

"Dyl?" I asked softly. If there had been many people or cars close by, it probably would have been too soft for him to even hear. He looked down at me expectantly, and I simply closed the short distance between us and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"I love you," I whispered into his neck. "You know that, right?"

"Of course. I love you, too," he replied, his arms immediately going around my back. I clung onto him, relishing the comfort he provided and for once ignoring the eyes of the nameless people who's attention we attracted.

"I'll tell him," I promised, releasing Dylan and leaning back to look him in the eye. I was suddenly full of determination, and realized that it was the first time that this actually felt _real_ to me. I'd always known, on some level at least, that it would have to happen eventually. But this was the first time it really registered that 'eventually' might not be so far off. "I will."

I made a vow. I was going to tell my dad about Dylan and I before the week was over. I had two days to confess to him the secret I'd kept from him all these years. I only hoped that my dad and my secret continued to get along as well as they had been this week. Unfortunately, I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that this couldn't possibly go well. My plans always did seem to backfire.

…

**A/N: 1) I have no idea what Marco's dad's name is really, so he's going to be Adamo in this story, lol.**

**2) The Marco's dad having trouble with the toaster thing was inspired by my grandpa, who, at seventy years old, finally figured out how to use both the oven and the toaster. Congratulations to him, lol. **

**3) R&R please :D **


	8. Saturday

**A/N: Hi, guys. I'm **_**so**_** sorry this took forever. See, I wrote the beginning of the chapter, then I got sick. Then I felt better and I wrote the end of the chapter, but then I got stuck. Then some crap came up and I wasn't really up to writing for a while. Then everything sort of straightened out. Then I wrote the middle of the chapter. And then, for some reason, I couldn't log in to post it. But now, here it is, completely completed and posted. Finally. **

Saturday

I'll admit that I was panicking. Even more so than when I'd been waiting for my dad to arrive. This was far more nerve racking than anything else that had happened this week.

I had decided that today was it. Today was the day I was finally going to tell my father everything. I'd been mulling over ways to do it, and figured that it would be easier, not to mention safer, if he was in a good mood. So I decided to make him a delicious dinner, maybe offer him a few― dozen― glasses of wine, then just come right out and say it.

It was already a quarter after six, and my dad had mentioned that he would be home around six-thirty. And I still wasn't anywhere near done. I was starting to wish I hadn't asked Ellie if it were possible for her not to be here. At least she would have been some help. Unlike certain other people.

"You _could_ help you know, Dylan," I shot at him irritably, trying to stir a steaming pot of vegetables with one hand and slide a pan into the oven with the other. My useless boyfriend was leaning against the doorway, watching me struggle and doing absolutely nothing to improve the situation.

"Nah, I prefer to watch. You're so cute when you're freaking out," he said. I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster, and his amused expression faltered.

"And yet so, so scary when you're angry," he muttered. "Sorry, babe. What can I do?" Aggravated as I was at his lack of helpfulness, I wasn't sure I really wanted him anywhere near the stove. He had a tendency to slightly overcook things. And by "slightly overcook" I mean burn to a crisp. Finally managing to get the pan in the oven, I shut the door with my foot and straightened up.

"You can set the table. Use the fanciest-looking stuff we've got," I said, carefully adjusting the temperature on the stove. Dylan gave a mock salute.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," he said, marching forward to rummage through the cabinets for plates. I rolled my eyes at his sarcasm.

"Why are you so stressed over this dinner thing, anyway?" he asked, pulling a stack of glass plates from the top shelf of the cabinet and setting them aside on the counter. "You really think sucking up to him is going to keep him from freaking out when you tell him we're together?"

I shrugged, though Dylan couldn't see me. He was busy searching another cabinet for glasses with his back turned to me. "At least he'll be in a good mood. And maybe if we give him enough wine, he'll be too drunk to kill us."

Dylan laughed. "There's an idea."

We were silent for a few minutes, with the only noise being the murky bubbling of boiling water and the sound of glass on wood as Dylan set the table. I reflexively checked the clock on the wall. Twenty after six. I had approximately ten minutes, if my dad was right on time.

"He'll be here soon. Any minute now," I said stiffly, my back to Dylan as I stirred the vegetables.

"Hey, think maybe we should hide the steak knives? I'd feel a lot better with no sharp objects in the room," he joked. I didn't even crack a smile. Of course, he couldn't see, but when I didn't laugh, Dylan must have sensed just how incredibly nervous I was. I heard his footsteps right behind me, then felt strong arms wrap around me from behind. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back into my boyfriend, and he rested his chin on my shoulder.

"_Relax,"_ he whispered into my ear.

"Easier said than done," I muttered back. Dylan reached in front of me and removed the wooden ladle I was using from my hand, then turned me around in his arms so that I was facing him.

"It'll go fine. Well, as fine as it can possibly go. I promise," he assured me.

"And what if it doesn't?" I asked.

He thought for a moment. "Then I guess we'll deal with that when and if it happens. But for now, relax. You worry too much. It's not healthy." He pecked me on the lips, giving me an encouraging smile.

"What was that for?"

Dylan shrugged. "Luck?"

"Then can I get another one? I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, the phone rang, startling me and making me jump. "Oh, could you get that?" I asked. He went to answer it, and I turned back around to stir the vegetables again.

"Mr. Del Rossi!" Dylan's exclamation immediately caught my attention. I strained my ears to hear the voice on the other end, but couldn't make out more than a few garbled words.

"Oh, that's… Yeah― yeah, I'll tell him… You too, sir… All right, bye," the moment Dylan hung up the phone, I bombarded him with questions.

"That was my dad? What did he want? Is he almost here? What's going on?" I demanded.

"_Breathe,_ Marco," Dylan laughed. "He's not even coming. He says he's going to be out pretty late. Around eleven."

I sighed, but I wasn't sure if it was from relief or disappointment. I was nervous, yes, but I'd been preparing myself all day for this dinner and the conversation that followed it. And now it wasn't even going to take place.

"Why? What happened?" I asked, crossing the room to fall into a chair. It was like the effects of a sugar high had worn off. Without my nerves making me frantic, I didn't have the apprehensive energy I'd had a few moments ago.

"Someone from work needed a favor. Did you tell him you were doing all this?" asked Dylan, gesturing around the kitchen at the carefully set table and still-cooking meal.

"No. But he never does anything on Saturdays. Maybe this is a sign that telling him now is a bad idea." I slumped in my chair, and Dylan came over to rub my shoulders soothingly. I dropped my head into my hands and tried to enjoy the massage.

"Hey, look on the bright side," said Dylan. "One― you don't have to tell him tonight. Two― more food for us. Three― this means everyone's going to be out til late…which means we've got the house to ourselves."

I perked up ever so slightly at that. "That's a pretty sunny bright side."

Dylan let go of my shoulders and leaned down to kiss my cheek. "Let's eat."

* * *

Dinner was turning out to be far more enjoyable than I'd been expecting all day. No stress, no tense words, no dread of the impending conversation…basically, no dad.

"That was great, baby," Dylan complimented, setting his fork down on his now clear plate and sitting back in his chair.

"Thanks," I beamed. I pushed my own plate aside and took a sip of the wine I'd planned on intoxicating my father with. "But since I cooked it all, you get to clean up."

"Or, we could leave it til later," Dylan suggested. He stood up and crossed around to my side of the table. I grinned as he took my hand and pulled me to my feet.

"What do you want to do, then?" I asked.

"We could just watch some TV. Relax," he said, surprising me.

"Okay. Hey, Saved by the Bell's on," I said excitedly, glancing at the clock.

Dylan looked nervous. "Um, how about I control the remote?"

"Uh, how about not?" I said sweetly, smiling up at him.

"How about… whoever gets to it first?" Dylan said quickly, sprinting off toward the living room before I could even register what he'd said.

I darted after him, but by the time I'd reached the living room, he'd already gotten the remote. So, I did the mature, reasonable thing― and tried to tackle him to the ground. I ran forward and threw my full weight against him, but he barely staggered, holding the remote far out of my reach.

"I don't think so, Del Rossi," he taunted, amused. I was still attempting to bring him down, but I quickly realized that my efforts were fruitless. Finally, after ramming into him and only succeeding in hurting my own shoulder, I settled for a dignified silence and a withering glare in his direction as I plopped down on the couch.

"Victory," Dylan said smoothly, tossing the remote in the air and catching it again. He collapsed on the couch beside me and flipped on the TV. "Hockey it is, then."

I gave an unintelligible grunt. "Fantastic."

* * *

A half an hour later, I was stretched out on the couch with my head in Dylan's lap, finishing up the episode of Saved by the Bell I had talked him into watching. As the show came to an end and the credits began to roll, I turned over to stare up at Dylan.

"See? Wasn't that a great episode?" I said cheerily, unable to resist rubbing it in. Cruel? Yes. But it was his own fault for being such a big sucker for the puppy eyes.

"Mhmm. Great," said Dylan. I had seen more enthusiastic corpses in the bloody zombie movies my boyfriend somehow always convinced me to watch.

"What? Come on, Saved by the Bell is a great show," I said defiantly.

"Yeah. Sure it is."

"It is!"

"Whatever you say, babe."

"You're insane," I declared, rolling back over to face the TV. "If it's so horrible, why did you watch it in the first place?"

Dylan ran a hand through my hair. "It's a mystery."

"Hey, is it _my _fault I'm so irresistibly cute?" I said airily.

Dylan snorted. "You have an ego the size of Canada, you know."

I ignored him and pulled up the guide on the TV. "Now what do you want to watch?"

"I don't care, as long as the Saved by the Bell suck-fest is over."

I smacked him on the knee, and selected an interesting looking show from the guide.

"Here. This looks good."

We sat there for about twenty minutes in silence. It was a pretty good show, or at least a pretty good episode, about a young couple on their wedding day on which everything imaginable went wrong. At the moment, the bride― after careful consideration― had just decided to go through with the wedding.

"Hey, Marco?" Dylan said suddenly. He had been absently playing with my hair for the last twenty minutes, but now he stopped, as though he had frozen.

"Hmm?"

He hesitated, like he wasn't sure exactly how to voice what he was thinking. "Have you ever thought about us…about what Paige said the other day? About you being her brother-in-law?"

My heart skipped a beat, and I cocked my head a little to the side, thinking. I knew what he really meant, and I wasn't going to make him say it. What should I tell him? I had imagined it, yes. I had pictured my dream wedding, with all my family and friends, laughing and smiling― my dad included. And Dylan, for it was always him that I pictured as the other groom― always looked amazing in my imaginary wedding scenario. In a tux, curly locks framing his face, or sometimes tied back― facing me at the altar, saying 'I do,' promising me love forever…

"A couple of times. Why?"

Again, Dylan didn't answer right away. "Well, I mean, you never know, right?" he said finally. "Anything could happen."

I rolled over again to gaze up at him for a second, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah. You never know."

He smiled too, then returned his focus to the show, as the couple on the screen were finally pronounced married, embracing each other in a passionate lip-lock.

"Just think. That could be us one day." Dylan had resumed the affectionate twirling of my hair between his fingers, and for the first time I wondered how much thought he had given to the subject.

"Okay, but you're wearing the dress."

He snorted, then rolled me over on my back so that he could see my face. He seemed to scrutinize me thoughtfully for a moment, then, to my disappointment, I had my comfortable pillow― Dylan's lap― sliding out from beneath me as he shifted. I was about to complain, but then he was lying alongside me, and I promptly changed my mind.

"And don't forget what comes after the wedding," he smirked, propping himself up on his elbow and staring down at me.

"Um…the reception?"

He bent closer to graze my lips with his. "The honeymoon."

"Ooh, I like the way you think, Michalchuk."

"Yeah. I'm brilliant. I know," Dylan remarked nonchalantly.

"Who's got the big ego now?" I chuckled.

"Me. But face it, that's why you love me," he proclaimed arrogantly. I rolled my eyes, but didn't deny it. He wasn't wrong.

Dylan's face was about half an inch from mine as it was, so he barely had to move at all in order to kiss me thoroughly, which he did. I could still taste the slight trace of wine on his lips and tongue, and wondered if this had been his plan all along. I wasn't about to stop to ask.

It wasn't long before our kissing graduated to a heavy make-out session, which, of course, was just the beginning. If I hadn't been enjoying myself so much at the time, I would have found it amusing that no matter what we started out doing, Dylan and I always ended up with our lips glued together. They spent more time pressed against each other than they would if they were magnetically attracted.

Upon my earlier insistence, Dylan had tucked his shirt into the top of his pants, something I regretted asking of him now that I was struggling to find and free the hem. As my fingers fumbled with the fabric, Dylan reached down and caught my hands in his, then pinned them over my head with his arm. With his other hand, he began working on the buttons on the front of my own shirt. I knew he hated trying to unbutton my dressier shirts, preferring to simply pull them over my head, but as I hadn't been expecting for this to happen tonight, I hadn't dressed for the occasion.

Finally succeeding in undoing the last of the buttons, he released my arms and freed me the rest of the way from the irritating fabric adorning my chest. Now that I had regained the use of my hands, I resumed my efforts to remove Dylan's pale turquoise shirt from his body. Perhaps taking pity on me, he sat up and did it himself, then dove back down to my lips. Maybe there was something to that theory of magnetic attraction. Dylan, still clothed from the waist down, began to grind himself against me, driving me insane and causing me to moan in pleasure. This beat confessing to my father any day.

But of course, nothing could ever stay perfect for too long. It would go against every rule in my life that it seemed someone had written for me, which was to never let me have a blissful, problem-free moment.

Ever.

"Marco!"

For a split second, the scene remained frozen, then it sprang to life as Dylan and I scrambled from each other and off the couch as though our bodies had received an electric shock. I knew that voice, and I had never heard it sounding so angry. Nor had I ever seen the man it belonged to looking so ready to kill.

"Dad…what are you doing home?" My lungs seemed to have restricted. I couldn't breathe properly. My father stood in the doorway to the living room, his face had turned a deep shade of crimson. I considered myself very lucky at that moment that looks could not kill. Dylan and I stood three feet apart, naked from the waist up, staring at the irate form of my father with the unmistakable expression of guilt on our faces.

"How could you!?" He kept glancing from me to Dylan and back, as though he didn't know who to blame. Finally, his gaze settled on my boyfriend.

"You," my father's voice was dead quiet. Maybe Dylan had had a point about hiding the steak knives.

"Sir…it's not what you think…" Dylan said desperately. I very nearly groaned in exasperation at the paper-thin defense.

"I walk in here and find you two­ half naked and _kissing! _What else could it be? A clothing-optional CPR class?!" my father spat.

I dared a nervous glance at Dylan as my father started raging in Italian, grateful that my boyfriend didn't speak the language. Dylan looked at a loss for what to do. I wasn't sure if we should try to explain and calm him down, or just let him yell. Honestly, I was kind of afraid to say anything, and by the uncertain expression on Dylan's face, I could tell he was, too.

"So this whole time? This _whole time _you've been…you've been with him, and― and you― he― how _could_ you?" he demanded finally.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. I wasn't really sure what I was apologizing for. For everything in general, I guess. I knew he deserved an apology and an explanation, but the thing was, I wasn't really sure what he was angry about. Of course I knew he was angry that I'd been lying to him this whole time. but I wasn't sure what else. Was this anger all because of the deceit? Or was it something else?

My father had again taken up yelling in a seamless mixture of English and Italian, Dylan was looking as though he heartily wished he could dematerialize on the spot, and I was standing beside him, wishing the scene would just freeze for a minute so I could think.

"Dad!" I said suddenly. The shock of my outburst did as it was intended, and my father fell silent. I didn't like the look he was giving me, though. It was like he was seeing everything― seeing me― clearly for the first time in years. And in a way, he was. It was the first time he was actually seeing the truth.

"You lied to me, Marco. You said you were just friends," he said in a softer tone. It was somehow worse than the yelling. He was disappointed. That was worse than murderous any day.

"I didn't want to lie, dad," I said desperately. "I _hated _it. All those years lying to you about being gay, and then I _finally _told you, and then I had to lie even more about Dylan."

"But _why, _Marco? _Why_ did you have to lie?" he demanded from me. Was he seriously asking me that? How could he not _know?_

"Do you realize that after I told you I was gay, it took you _three weeks _to have an actual conversation with me? You ignored me for _three weeks!"_ I suddenly shouted, a year's worth of buried hurt and resentment bursting from me with surprising force. "It was like I didn't even matter any more. After that, why would I want to tell you _anything _that could make that happen again?"

I was fighting back tears, but it was a losing battle. Dylan was biting his lip, apparently torn. Finally appearing to come to a decision, he moved closer and put an arm around me.

"Don't touch him," my dad said suddenly. Dylan made to remove his arm, but I grabbed his wrist, holding it where it was.

"No," I said, and I could tell I had shocked them both. Hell, I had taken myself by surprise. "Dylan's my boyfriend, dad. You're going to have to accept it eventually. I love him―"

My dad snorted derisively.

"―and you're going to have to get used to it…cause he's not going anywhere." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dylan. He was smiling ever so slightly, and the small gesture gave me all the more strength.

My father looked as though he was praying for patience. "Marco, you _don't_ love him. You're _eighteen! _You don't know _who _you love…you're still figuring things out, and­―"

But I cut him off, now frustrated beyond belief. "Figuring _what _out?! What is there to figure out, dad? I know how I feel. I know that Dylan makes me happy!"

"But why does it _have_ to be _Dylan?_" he said, easily matching my fury. "There are so many people out there…why can't it be…why can't _you _be―"

"Why can't I be _what,_ huh?" I demanded. "What were you going to say!?"

"Why can't you be _normal!?"_

One of the most deafening silences I've ever heard followed his words. Our eyes met, and we stared at each other for a moment as his words sunk in. A tear finally spilled over and cascaded silently down my cheek, but I barely noticed. So that what he thought, was it? That I was some kind of freak? Some disgusting abnormality that he was ashamed of?

He broke our gaze, averting his eyes. He looked nothing short of distraught, and if my very skin hadn't felt electrified with anger, I would have pitied him.

"Marco, I―" he began softly. But I didn't want to hear it. I had heard enough. He had already made his feelings perfectly clear.

"Save it," I said quietly. "Call Ma tomorrow. You can go back home to your normal life and pretend your freak of a son doesn't exist."

"Marco!"

Both Dylan and my father called out to stop me, but, ignoring both of them, I turned and ran upstairs. Out of what had become habit that week, my feet carried me to my room, rather than mine and Dylan's, even though there was no real reason for the sham anymore. I slammed my door and collapsed on the bed, burying my face in Dylan's pillow.

About a quarter of an hour later, I heard Dylan himself come up to check on me. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. I didn't feel like talking. For once, I was able to deceive him, and after kissing me gently on my forehead, he left me in peace.

------

**A/N: So, what did you think? Darco and drama, all in the same chapter, heh. So, only one more chapter left, plus I've got an epilogue already written, but I might just make it part of the chapter, depending on how that ends. And I promise to try to update this month, and not take forever. **


	9. Sunday

* * *

**A/N: So, last chappie :D **

Sunday

You know the first few minutes after you wake up? Like, before you even open your eyes, or really even register that you're awake? Those few seconds have to be the most peaceful in existence. For that short time, you have a clean slate. No remembrance of yesterday, no immediate realization that your carefully constructed web is unravelling, no need to even think…just placidly be. 

But then you open your eyes, and that fragile illusion shatters with the colossal intensity of a mountain crumbling while you stand beneath it. 

It didn't take me long. I tentatively opened my eyes, blinking against the harsh sunlight, and as soon as I saw the bare, now-familiar walls of my room, the memory of the previous night returned to me. My father's words hit me with a force that felt like a fist, and I closed my eyes again, trying to shut them out. 

After a while, I could hear people moving about outside my door. I could distinguish my roommates' distinct footsteps; I could hear Ellie's light steps treading across the floor; Dylan's heavier, thudding strides; and now my dad's slow, weighty footfalls. 

After about a quarter of an hour of making no effort to budge an inch, I decided to get up. I didn't bother to dress, I still had no intentions of leaving the room. If I did, there was the very likely chance that I'd run into someone that I most certainly did not want to run into. Namely, my father. So instead I grabbed my laptop from my desk, then settled back down in my bed, propping myself up against the pillows, and pulled up my history essay. 

Apparently, though, if I wasn't coming out, the two roommates who I actually wanted here figured that the best thing to do was to come in. 

Probably assuming that I was still sleeping, they didn't bother to knock, and merely walked right in. I looked up to see Dylan and Ellie in my doorway. Dylan walked over to sit down on the bed next to me, and Ellie quickly followed after quietly shutting the door. 

"Hey, guys. What's up?" I asked, my voice a bit hoarse after the lack of use all night. 

"Well, not you. Are you okay? It's after eleven," said Dylan gently, smoothing my tousled hair back from my face. 

I shrugged. "Yeah. I had some work to do, so…" 

They nodded their understanding, and I could tell by the following silence and timid expression on their faces that they were each trying to figure out the best way to broach the topic of last night. 

Ellie was the first to break the silence. "Dylan told me what happened," she said timidly. "What a way for your dad to find out."

"Tell me about it," I said bitterly. "Out of all the hundreds of times I've ran through the scenario of telling him in my head, I never imagined he'd walk in on us." 

"Yeah, that could have gone better," agreed Dylan. "But you never answered my question, Del Rossi." 

"What question?"

"Are you okay?"

I knew neither Dylan nor Ellie would be happy with the real answer, so I gave the quick, generic response instead. 

"I'm fine."

They both gave me 'don't-give-me-that-crap' looks, and I immediately gave up the act. Lying was no use, anyway. I was practically transparent to them both. 

"Well, what I'm I supposed to say? I feel like shit?" I said rather sardonically.

Dylan shrugged. "If that's how you feel."

I pressed my head back further into my pillows, and didn't say anything. 

"Look, your dad is on the phone with your mom right now," said Ellie softly. "He'll be gone soon." 

"Good," I said rigidly. "He can go home and leave me the hell alone." 

"So, you're not going to talk to him?"

"Why should I?" I asked, but I knew Ellie and Dylan could hear the falter in my voice as easily as I could. I could actually think of several dozen reason why I _should _go talk to him. But that didn't mean that I wanted to, and it definitely didn't mean that I would. 

"Because he's your father?" offered Dylan. 

'_Reason number one' _said the grating voice in my head that never failed to be infuriatingly correct. 

"And because if you don't at least try to straighten things out with him, this thing will eat you up from the inside?" suggested Ellie. 

'_Reason number two' _the snide voice remarked smugly. 

"It will not. Guys, he thinks I'm a freak. Why should I go talk to _him? _He's the one who should be coming up here to apologize to me."And at the moment, that one fact was all I really needed to ignore all the reasons why I _should _go and talk to him. 

"That's true. But sometimes, you got to take the first step. And he never actually called you a freak," said Dylan fairly. Who's side was he on, anyway? 

"He didn't have to," I spat. "What exactly am I supposed think when he says I'm not normal?"

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," said Dylan somewhat desperately. 

"He was pretty clear on how he felt. He doesn't want me to be with you," I said coldly. 

"Did you really expect him to be fine with it right away?" Ellie spoke up. "But…he got over you being gay…and he'll get over this, too. Just give it some time, Marco."

I snorted. "He did _not_ get over me being gay, El. He just got to the point where he could pretend that nothing was wrong with his perfect little family portrait. And that's the thing― that's why he'll never accept the fact that I have a boyfriend. It makes it so he _can't _ignore this whole thing anymore." 

"So, what, you're just _not_ going to try to fix things with him?" asked Ellie, almost irritably. 

"No," I said resolutely. She arched an eyebrow at me. "Well, I mean… if he would just _apologize…" _I sputtered angrily. 

"You have every right to be mad at him," said Dylan, and Ellie shook her head in agreement. "Hell, I would be. Actually, after some of the crap my parents pulled when I first came out, I was pretty furious with them, too. So I can't blame you there."

"So you see my point," I said gratefully. 

"Yeah. I do," said Dylan. "But, maybe…"

"What?" I asked sharply. 

He hesitated. "Maybe this is exactly what needed to happen. I mean, now it's all completely out in the open. And like you said, he can't ignore it anymore. Maybe this is the wake-up call he needed to see that this is who you are, and that this is how it's _always_ going to be." 

"Or― _maybe…"_ I said sarcastically, "it's finally hit him that I'm not the son he always wanted, and now he hates me." 

"He _doesn't_ hate you," said Dylan firmly. "Listen― your dad…well, I'm going to be honest: he _is_ slightly homophobic―"

I scoffed. _"Slightly?" _

"―He's a traditionalist…and I think you're right about the fact that he'd rather believe his own― I don't know, his own _vision_ of his family, rather than see the way things really are." 

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better? Cause it's doing a hell of a job…" 

"―But I also think that nothing would make him happier than to see _you_ happy. And I know― with no doubt in my mind― that he does love you. A lot. Whoever else you may be…you're his son. First and foremost." 

I averted my gaze to the keyboard of my laptop, glaring at the letter 'G', and didn't say anything. 

"Which is why it's worth trying to make things better with him, Marco," said Ellie sincerely. 

I tried to ignore the truth in everything they were saying, tried to pretend that I couldn't care less about leaving things open and bleeding with my dad, but I knew they were right. "Okay, but that doesn't change the fact that there's still this― this giant _gap _between us― and I don't think we're ever going to be able to close it," I said sadly. 

Dylan tilted my chin up with his finger, forcing me to look at him. "You can," he said softly. "But he's leaving. This is the best chance you're going to get right now, if you want to try." 

I closed my eyes briefly. "I'll talk to him. Brace yourselves for World War III," I opened my eyes to see Dylan and Ellie smiling happily at their achievement. 

"I think he's cooled off a bit since the initial shock of last night," Dylan assured me. "He doesn't seem quite so― terrifying― at least." 

"Terrific. But what's up with this, anyway? Aren't you guys supposed to be on my side? Telling me I'm right, backing me up... the whole deal?" 

Ellie shook her head. "We _are _on your side. We know you, Marco. We know how important it is to you… what your parents' love and approval means." 

"Exactly," agreed Dylan. "Which is why we're not letting you two go out like this, if we can help it. You'd just regret it later."

"Ah. Remind me to thank you later once my dad leaves. Ellie, coffee on me?" I proposed.

"Sounds good," she said, smiling. 

"What about me?" whined Dylan. 

"Hmm…how about _you_ on me? At least twice." I caught my boyfriend's eye and winked. 

"Uh, still sitting here," said Ellie, looking disgusted. 

"Sorry," I said, while Dylan laughed. 

"We must be horrible to live with, huh?" he asked, grinning at her, not looking the least bit apologetic. 

Ellie considered him thoughtfully. "Not if you don't mind walking in on make-out sessions, being the accidental interceptor in games of footsie under the table, and gagging at all the shameless flirting and PDA's that go on around here. Not to mention the references to your sex life I could really do without," she said fairly. 

"Oh, God, we _are_ that horrible," Dylan groaned, and Ellie and I laughed. 

"So, you going to be all right?" Dylan asked me quietly when we had stopped chuckling. 

I nodded, offering him a weak smile. "I'll be fine. I'll talk to him," I assured them, reaching for both of their hands and giving them a slight squeeze. "Where would I be without you guys?"

"Well, you'd probably be living in a dorm―" said Ellie thoughtfully. 

"―Single―" interjected Dylan. 

"―best friend-less―"

"―all alone and sad," Dylan finished, smiling cheerfully. 

"Oh, and you'd still have a full carton of that ice-cream you got. It was good, by the way. We should definitely get some more of that," added Ellie as an afterthought, grinning as well. 

I rolled my eyes, releasing their hands and setting my laptop aside. "You know― all alone best friendless and single doesn't sound so bad right now," I joked good-naturedly. They stood up, still smirking at me affectionately. 

"We'll leave you to it, then," said Ellie. She made for the door, and paused a foot from it when she realized Dylan wasn't behind her. "Dylan? Are you coming? I wanted to ask you some sports questions for this assignment I'm doing." 

"Huh?" he glanced over at her distractedly. "Yeah, I'll be right there. Give me five minutes." 

Ellie rolled her eyes at us. "Right. Like you guys ever do _anything _in five minutes." 

When the door had shut behind her, Dylan turned back to me as I was climbing out of bed. 

"Something else?" I asked, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it on the back of my desk chair. I went to go dig through my closet for a clean one, realizing that I'd have to switch all the clothes I'd brought back into mine and Dylan's closet later. 

"Three things, actually," said Dylan, standing behind me while I sifted through my clothes. 

"Shoot."

"One, does this mean that you're coming back to our room tonight?" he asked hopefully. I grinned, selecting a black shirt with a high collar, in order to hide the pale pink mark that Dylan had left on my neck the previous night. I didn't think my father seeing the hickey would improve the situation much. 

"Yes, you'll be happy to know, it does. And we've got _a lot_ of lost time to make up for. A whole week," I said, slipping the shirt over my head. "Poor Ellie. She's really going to hate living here after tonight. So, what's the second thing?" 

"Second thing is…I just want to say how proud I am of you," Dylan said matter-of-factly, stepping out of the way as I began to search the room for a pair of jeans to wear. 

"Proud for what?" I asked curiously. 

"For finally telling your dad about us."

"I didn't _actually _tell him, Dylan. He walked in on us kissing and came to the conclusion all by himself," I reminded him, wincing slightly at the still oh-so-fresh memory. 

"Well, you were planning to tell him, anyway, before he canceled," shrugged Dylan. "And now you're going to talk to him. And I'm just― really proud of you. For not letting him push you around."

"What did you expect, for me to dump you the second he decided he didn't approve of us?" I laughed. I had found a pair of jeans, and was in the process of pulling them on, when I stopped with them tugged halfway up my legs. "Dylan?"

He had diverted his gaze to the heap of pillows and blankets on my bed that I had crawled out of moments before. "It's just, I know how much your relationship with him means to you, and I wasn't thinking clear, I guess, and I just thought― well, I dunno what I thought," he mumbled, suddenly looking rather uncomfortable. 

I stared at him, thoroughly shocked, then remembered that I was still standing there with my pants only halfway on, and pulled them the rest of the way up. 

"Dyl…" I said quietly, coming up beside him. "Look at me." I touched his arm hesitantly, and he looked down at me. 

"I meant what I said last night," I said firmly, taking his larger, rougher hands in my smaller ones. "Whether my dad likes it or not― whether he _accepts _it or not― I love you. And he can either deal with it or not. And he…what he thinks, the way he feels towards me… it _does _mean a lot to me. But you― you mean _everything." _

Dylan blinked rapidly, deliberately not looking directly at me, and swallowed hard before speaking. "I love you." 

I let go of his hands and slipped my arms around his waist instead, laying my head on his shoulder. "I love you, too. Always." He encircled me in his arms, kissing me on the top of the head, and I could almost feel relief and tranquillity radiating from him. 

"Hey, what was the third thing you wanted?" I asked, suddenly remembering why Dylan was still in here in the first place. 

"Oh, yeah…" he said, leaning back so he could see my face. A lopsided smirk had formed on his lips. "Kiss me, please." 

Charming as always, I couldn't refuse him. 

Fifteen minutes later, dressed and properly groomed, I headed downstairs, the sickening, leaden feeling of dread settling in the pit of my stomach. Ellie was on the couch on her laptop, working on some report or another. She glanced up when she heard me. 

"El, where's―?" I began. 

She merely gave a jerk of her head toward the kitchen, and I nodded. I took a deep breath, and, resigning myself to the task, headed for the kitchen. 

You know the expression "you could cut the tension with a knife"? I entered the kitchen to find my father bent over the dishwasher. He looked up and saw me, and right then, you would have needed a chain saw to penetrate the awkwardness in the room. 

For a moment, no one spoke. Then, he stood up, and in an obviously forced tone, muttered, "Your dishwasher…it's not working right. I tried to fix it, but―"

"It's okay," I interrupted. "I'll ask Dylan to look at it later. He's good with stuff like that."

And…cue the awkward silence. And coming up next, a hundred percent chance of even _more_ awkward silence. Well, this would be fun. 

"I called your mother," he said, and he visibly relaxed a bit. "She wants me to come back home."

"That's good. I'm glad you two are working things out." Now if only he and I could do the same. 

He nodded, staring out the kitchen window over the sink. His eyes were glazed over, the way they get when you're picturing something in your mind rather than seeing what's right in front of you. I was suddenly curious as to where exactly his thoughts had taken him. 

"Well― I'm going to go pack my things. I'm meeting her at that café we were in the other day. We're having lunch, then going back home," he said, walking back toward the living room. 

He had almost made it, when I realized exactly what he was walking away from. What I was letting him walk away from. 

_Me. _His son. 

Dylan was right, as usual: right now was the best chance I had to fix things with my father. If we didn't do this now, who knew when we'd ever bring it up again? How long had it been since the last time we'd talked? We both had a habit of ignoring these issues, pushing them down and trying to pretend they didn't exist. And this wound was more open than ever; right now was the best time to try to heal. 

"Dad, wait!" I called out, and he halted in his tracks. I hesitated uncertainly, my exclamation still hanging in the air. He hadn't moved a muscle, hadn't even looked back at me. "Are― are we going to talk about this? At _all?" _

He turned around slowly. "Talk― about what?" 

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes angrily. He was not doing this. Not this time. "You _know _what. You know perfectly well _what, _Dad, so don't pretend you don't," I said heatedly. 

"Marco, I don't want to hear it," he said, in a tone that warned me not to argue. Two years ago, it would have worked. "I don't want to hear it, I don't want to talk about it, I don't want―"

"You _never _want to talk about it, Dad!" I said shrilly. "You never have! But we need to. Or at least, I need to talk to _you._ So how about this: I talk. You listen. Sound fair?" 

"Marco―"

"Look. Here's the deal, from the beginning, no holding back anything…not anymore. First of all, I'm gay," I began, deciding to start at the _very _beginning. 

"I _know _you're―"

"No, you know what? I don't think you _do _know," I cut him off. "Or at least you don't know what it means. So I'll put it simple terms for you, dad… _I like guys." _He cringed at my tone. Or maybe it was the words. Whatever it was, it didn't stop me from plowing on.

"_I am attracted to males. _It's how it is, it's how it's always been,and it's howit_ always will be," _I said slowly, stressing every word. _"Always."_

"I know!"

"_Second―_ I have a boyfriend! All right? His name is Dylan Michalchuk and I am deeply, madly in love with him. And _that _is never going to change."

My father was clearly losing what was left of his composure, not to mention his patience. His face was growing steadily more crimson colored, and I knew he was itching to say something. It wouldn't be long before his emotions won over and whatever he was thinking came spilling out of his mouth. 

"_Third― _I'm your _son,"_ on the last word, my voice cracked a little, revealing more desperation than I'd actually wanted to. "And I just want things to be the way they were. I want you to be proud of me again, Dad. I want you to be proud that I'm your son. Like when I told you I was running for class president. Or when I won those hockey tickets in ninth grade, and me and you went to the game together. Or all the other times growing up when you told me that I was the part of your life that you were most proud of. I want _that_ back!"

Not surprisingly, I was in tears by this point. But what did succeed in shocking me was the fact that so was my father. 

"Dad?" 

He blinked and looked away. "Marco…look… I _am _proud of you. I always have been. And it's something _else_ that will never change. No matter what, you're my boy― and I will love you, and I will be proud of you. Always."

The smallest trace of a smile pulled at the corners of my mouth at those words. I'd wanted to hear them for so long. However, the slight evidence of my satisfaction faded a bit at his next words. 

"But, Marco…there are some things that are hard for me to accept. And I'm trying. I am. But it's difficult to just turn around and change your mind about something when you've spent your whole life thinking one way about it." 

I lowered my head. His words were gently delivered­― as gently as possible, anyway― but his uncertainty about that part of my life never failed to sting. Like a particularly large flying death monkey bee. 

"So, what do we do?" I asked quietly, wondering by now if there even _was _a solution to this mess. 

Dad thought for a moment. "We try. I try to accept you, your life, and all the people that you care to share it with. And you…try to be patient with me." 

I nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "How long are you going to make me wait, though? Cause I don't know how much longer I can hold out like this. With this between us… I want you back," I gave a helpless shrug. "I miss you, Dad. I miss my father." 

"I know," he said simply. "I miss you, too. I really miss the way things used to be, with me, and you, and your mama…"

"But why can't we have that back?" I interrupted. "It would be so easy, if you could just―" my voice trailed off. 

"Accept. I know," he nodded. 

"Yeah. And not pretend," I said. "And _not _try to set me up with my friends. One of which, by the way, is a lesbian and currently living with her girlfriend." 

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "What?" 

I resisted the urge to laugh at his expression, reminding myself that, however amusing it was, we _were_ kind ofin the middle of a serious conversation. "Yeah, Paige? She switched teams a while back. The 'person' she's dating is Alex Nunez. A _girl,_" I explained, shrugging again. 

An unidentifiable look crossed his face. "Ah," he said tersely. 

I broke the following silence with the question that had been weighing most heavily on my mind. "Dad? What about…what about Dylan?" 

"Dylan. Your―" he struggled for half a second, then the word tumbled from his lips. "Boyfriend."

"My boyfriend."

"It's…hard, sometimes. Thinking of you with a man…knowing that you will be having relationships with men… it's not exactly an easy pill for me to swallow, Marco, I won't lie to you," my father said. "And the fact that you lied to me about Dylan in the first place…"

"About that― I am _so _sorry, Dad. I really am," I said genuinely. "I never wanted to do it. But, I'd just come out to you. You were still getting used to the gay thing. I didn't think you were ready to hear about me moving in with my boyfriend just yet," I tried to justify myself. "But I _am_ sorry for all the lies."

He was nodding slowly, taking in my apology. "And I am sorry for making you feel like you had to lie to get anywhere. But no more secrets. Ever. Clear?" 

"Crystal. And while we're apologizing… I'm sorry you had to find out about me and Dylan that way. I was going to tell you…last night, actually. I was going to make you dinner and tell you everything…" At the memory of last night, another question that had hovered on the outer reaches of my mind reestablished itself. 

"What were you doing home so early, anyway? Dylan told me you said you'd be home around eleven." I asked curiously. 

"I was helping out a friend of mine from work with his car. We finished early, so I came back, and…" 

"And we weren't ready for you," I finished. "So, Dad… does this mean that you're going to be nice to Dylan?" I asked hopefully. _"Please?" _I emphasized. 

He looked as though he was fighting a rather violent battle within himself, then, with a mastery of politeness I never would have expected, "If you say that you love Dylan," he said slowly, seeming to struggle with each word before forcing it out. But hey, it was a start. "Then I will do my best to accept him as a part of your life." 

I smiled now, a real smile. "You mean that?" I sounded skeptical, but it was almost unreal to actually hear him say it. 

He smiled too. "I mean that. If he makes you happy, and if you truly do care for him and he cares for you―"

"I do," a voice interrupted him. Suddenly Dylan was in the doorway behind my dad, a soft smile gracing his lips. He passed my dad and came to put his arm around me, and I smiled up at him gratefully before returning my attention to my father. 

"I love Marco, sir," Dylan began, obviously desperate to make him see how sincere his words were. "He means more to me than anything in the world…I'd do anything for him. And even if I'm not the person you would have chosen for Marco to get with, you've got to at least appreciate that, right?" he asked hopefully. 

My father was avoiding looking at us, directing his gaze instead to the floor, and I wasn't sure if he was doing some serious thinking or just didn't want to look at us standing there together. 

"Dad? Please say…something," I implored him. 

Finally, my father looked up, looking hesitant, but resolute. He cleared his throat before speaking. 

"You're mother and I were planning to host a dinner party…if she still wants to. I'll talk to her and see exactly when, and I know she― _we―_ would like it if you both were there."

I glanced up at Dylan, who looked as incredulous as I felt, and squeezed my shoulder lightly. 

"We'll be there," I assured him, grinning. 

He gave a crisp nod. "That's, um… that's…" he stammered. He swallowed hard. That's great." 

He looked at me, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, it was with that benign, fatherly expression. His eyes did not immediately dart away as soon as they caught mine. There was no trace of bitterness, no wistful pleading look. On the other hand, they were not glistening with pride, or sparkling with joy. Because he wasn't _proud_ just yet, and he was not happy about any of this. I knew that. And as much as I hated it, as much as it hurt, I could accept it, because there was something else in his gaze that made it worth waiting for the pride and the joy. 

As cheesy as it sounds: his love for his son. 

Okay, so he still didn't exactly _accept _everything about my life yet. Perhaps it was simply too much to ask on my part right now. I'm not going to pretend that it doesn't hurt, because in all honesty, it still stings. Though, I couldn't really expect one conversation between the two of us to completely change his mind. Actually, I still had the feeling that _he_ would still change everything if he could…my life, my love…and re-write it all his way. 

But he was slowly picking up on the fact that this reality couldn't be altered, and that maybe it shouldn't be anyway. And he was _trying. _Maybe it wasn't enough to get him all the way where I wanted him to be, which was in a place where he could wake up on any given morning and say to himself, _'My son's gay. And I'm okay with it.' _And maybe he wasn't one hundred percent okay with Dylan being my boyfriend. And maybe it would be years before he fully embraced it all. 

But he was getting there, and now we were one step further. And that was really all I could ask for. 

After our talk, Dylan and I helped my Dad pack his things, and offered to drive him to the café he was meeting my mother at. He politely refused. 

"I'm sure you have other things you need to do," he said. 

"Things…people…" I caught Dylan's undertone. I stamped hard on his foot to shut him up. 

"What was that?" asked my dad, clueless as ever. 

"Nothing," Dylan said quickly, smiling angelically. 

"Hey, dad? Can I ask you a question?" I shut the clasp on his suitcase and heaved it off the guest bed he'd been sleeping in all week.

"Hmm?"

"What exactly did you and mom fight about? I mean, you'll be able to work it out, right?" I asked nervously. 

He cleared his throat nervously. "Well, we'll be able to, yes." 

"So, what was it about?" 

He looked uncertain. 

"Come on, Dad. No secrets, remember?" I reminded him, using his own words against him. 

He sighed. "Fine. Well, it started out when your mama said that she make better pancakes than I do."

Whoa. Wait a sec. Did I just hear him say _pancakes? _

"Um, _what?"_ I asked, raising my eyebrows dubiously. I glanced at Dylan, and judging by the expression on his face, I ruled out the possibility that I'd misheard my father. But no way. _No freakin way_ this whole thing was about something as ridiculous as pancakes.I mean, my parents were strange, but surely,they wouldn't actually have a significant fight about _pancakes…_

"You're mama said that she make better pancakes than I do," my dad repeated. "And I told her it wasn't true. Then she said that I was too competitive and I always had to be right about everything, and it all just escalated from there," he shook his head, as though he was still confused by the whole ordeal. 

I blinked. Oh. My. _God. _

"You have _got _to be _kidding me!"_ I said slowly, my voice rising with each word. "You're telling me that this _whole thing_ is because of a bunch of _freakin pancakes!?" _I shrieked hysterically. Dylan was gaping at my father, his mouth hanging wide open. 

My dad looked rightfully ashamed. "They were the cause for the rest of the fighting, yes," he fidgeted with the handle of the suitcase. "But then she called me a know-it-all and told me to just eat the pancakes and shut up," he explained, looking indignant at the memory. 

"Oh my _God!_ You guys are _unbelievable!_" 

Dylan, to my annoyance, looked as though he was bordering on laughter, but at the moment, I was too― what was the word…shocked? Incredulous? Horrified?― to even imagine finding this funny. "She kicked you out of the house! Your _marriage _could have been destroyed!And all over _pancakes?" _

My dad said nothing. I however, continued to express my disbelief at my parents' behavior. By the time my dad left, he'd gotten a proper earful. As did the rest of the house. And probably some neighbors. 

When the door was safely shut and my dad had pulled out of the driveway, Ellie seemed to deem it safe to make her presence known again. 

"Okay, I only heard _bits_ of you screaming at the top of your lungs," she said sarcastically, wincing, as though the very memory caused her ears splitting pain. "But from what I did hear, am I right in assuming that this whole thing with your parents started because of a batch of pancakes?" 

I nodded miserably. 

To my intense irritation, Ellie burst out laughing. Dylan didn't even hesitate to join in. 

Jerks. 

But after a full thirty seconds of them barely being able to breath due to laughing so hard, even I couldn't pretend it wasn't at least a little funny. Surrendering, I joined my boyfriend and my best friend at laughing hysterically at my lunatic parents. 

"Hey, Dylan, that toast you made us a few weeks ago was completely burnt. Marco and I are kicking you out of the house," gasped Ellie, struggling to catch her breath. 

Dylan snorted. "And I thought my family was crazy," he remarked, wiping a tear from his eye. "Ah, well at least he's gone now, Marco." He slung an arm around my shoulders, still chortling. 

"And it only took a week, a walk-in, and an uncomfortable heart-to-heart to get him out of here," I said sarcastically, shaking my head. 

"Well, this'll make a great story for parties," joked Ellie. 

"You know, between us, our family, and our friends…we have got to be the craziest, most screwed up people I've ever seen in my life," said Dylan thoughtfully. "I mean, in the last four months: Paige burned down her dorm room and moved in with her lesbian lover; Spinner and Jimmy started a T-shirt shop and nearly burned _it_ to the ground; and your father walked in on us half naked making out on the couch after your mother kicked him out of the house because of an argument over _pancakes._ Does anyone else see how _insane_ our lives are?" 

"God, am I the only normal one around here?" joked Ellie, shaking her head in disbelief. 

"Oh, don't even get me started on you, Nash," warned Dylan. 

"Don't even try it, Michalchuk," she advised. After years of dear Eleanor's practice in dealing with the other half of the Michalchuk sibling duo, Dylan didn't stand a chance. He knew it, too. 

That was when I noticed that Ellie had taken her coat of the hook and was tugging it on. 

"El? Where're you going?" I asked. 

She gave me a look. "Please. With your dad finally gone, I am not sticking around to get the audio version of your 'reunion' with Dylan after a week with no significant physical contact. Well, almost no significant physical contact. Don't think I didn't hear you guys in Marco's room that night." 

I blushed. Oops. 

"You heard that?" asked Dylan, looking rather embarrassed himself. 

"Uh, _yeah." _

"Huh," said Dylan thoughtfully. "Okay, quick question, is either of us _more _loud than the other? And by that, I mean, you just hear Marco, right?" 

I scoffed. "Excuse me!" 

"What?" He tried to look innocent. As if I didn't know better. 

"You're the one always groaning like a _zombie!"_ I said indignantly. 

"Yeah, but you're all, _'Oh, Dylan, please! I want you so bad!"_ he imitated me. Poorly. 

"I do not! I never say anything!" 

"Oh, no, not a word. Except, of course, for when you're begging me to―" 

"_Okay!"_ Ellie interrupted at this point. I had actually forgotten she was still hearing every word of this. I really should start paying more attention to my surroundings. "And on that note, I'm leaving. And for your information, you both can pretty much be heard from Vancouver," she said matter-of-factly. 

My blush deepened as the front door slammed, and Dylan and I were left alone. 

_Finally. _

"And for _your _information, I do _not_ beg," I said proudly. "I've never begged anyone for anything in my life."

He cocked an eyebrow at me. 

"I'm serious! I don't beg you to do _anything," _I insisted. 

He snorted. "Please. You have, like, no dignity." 

"Hey! I resent that. I'm all about dignity," I said haughtily. 

A mischievous look passed over his face, and in the time it took for me to open my mouth to ask _why_ he was looking like that, he was on me, kissing my open mouth with an intensity and passion that I was convinced only Dylan could kiss me. He backed me up slowly, steering me to the living room, then toward the couch, his tongue leaving mine only to break for air. As confused as I was by the sudden attack, I was enjoying this far too much to require an explanation. 

The backs of my knees hit the edge of the couch cushions and buckled, and I fell back, with him falling right with me. He pressed me into the cushions in a never relenting onslaught of tongue and teeth and hands. Clothes were being removed, tongues were tangling with each other, and Dylan was a blonde whirlwind that I couldn't even attempt to keep up with. 

He finally released my nipple from between his teeth, and had me fully undressed in the blink of an eye. He was teasing me with all his touching and biting and groping and stroking, and I had to admit that it was driving me wild. 

"Dylan…" I muttered, the word coming out as half a grunt. 

"What?" 

"You know what…" This really was torture. He was making me squirm in pleasure, but he wouldn't give me what I really wanted. Him. 

"Now…please?" 

Suddenly, everything stopped. He sat up, grinning smugly, and I blinked up at him in confusion. 

"Why'd you stop?" I demanded. 

He snickered. "You said 'please'," he pointed out. 

"So?"

"I thought you didn't beg?" 

I growled in frustration. "Fine. You made your point. I have no pride. Are you happy?"

His smirk broadened. "Very." 

"Good. Then get your ass down here, Michalchuk," I grabbed his waist and pulled him back down on top of me. "I need you now_. Please?" _I said, honestly not giving a damn about dignity at this point. So I needed him sometimes and wanted him always. Sue me. He kissed me hard, and I decided that pride was seriously overrated anyway. 

"No walk-ins this time?" he joked, his chest heaving as he broke the kiss. He let his lips caress mine lightly, barely brushing them. 

I grinned into the almost-kiss. "No walk i―" 

"_Oh my God!" _

"Ellie!"

"What the hell are you doing back!?" 

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, so you can probably guess what happened at the end there, lol. Poor Darco. They can never get any privacy. Well, maybe if they didn't try to do it on the couch in the middle of the living room… **

**Anyways, still the epilogue to go. :D **


	10. Epilogue

**A/N: Just in case it's not obvious, Subject D=Dylan and Subject E=Ellie. Think "spy mission-like" kind of thing, lol. **

_Epilogue- Monday, Two Weeks Later_

As silently as I could, I crept out into the kitchen. Subject D was currently showering. Subject E was asleep at the table. I had only minutes. 

Darting past snoring Subject E, who's coffee mug was dangerously close to the falling off the edge of the table, I at last reached the front hall. I considered removing Subject E's mug from her grasp and setting it safely on the counter, but for one thing, I couldn't take a chance on waking her. For another, the water had just stopped running upstairs: Subject D would be down any minute. 

Bracing myself against the biting chill of the winter morning, I threw open the door and hurried outside. Clutching the teal fabric in my hand tightly, I raced toward Object T, AKA the trash at the end of our driveway.

Immediately upon reaching it, I opened the lid and tossed the fabric inside. Letting the lid close with a heavy 'thud,' I scurried back up to the house. 

_Mission complete. _

I slid back into the kitchen just as Subject D entered from the other doorway, dressed only in a pair of plaid pajama pants. Victory never tasted― or looked― so good. 

"Hey honey, have you seen my robe anywhere? I can't find it," said Dylan, obviously bewildered. 

I turned away under the pretense of pouring myself some coffee. "Um, no babe. I haven't seen it." 

"Oh. That's weird. I guess I'll just go get a shirt, then. It's freezing." 

Wait. Did he just say _shirt? _That wasn't part of the plan. _Code red! Code red!_

"What? A shirt?" I repeated. No. Not that. Anything but that. I had finally succeeded in removing the evil presence of The Robe from our household, and now he was going to wear shirts instead? Did he hate me so much? 

"Yeah, I'm just going to go get a T-shirt. I'll be right back down," he said, turning to go back upstairs. 

"Wait! You can't," I said, causing him to stop in his tracks. 

"Um…why not?" he asked, looking back at me as though he thought I'd gone insane. 

"Uh, because…well, I…it was…"

"Marco, are you okay?"

"I know what happened to your robe," I blurted. Dylan's eyebrows rose in shock.

"You do? Where is it?"

"Outside. In the trash can," I said, averting my eyes.

"What?" he hurried through the kitchen to the front door, and I followed at his heels. We peered through the little glass window in the door, watching as the garbage truck pulled up and emptied the can. A few seconds later, it drove off, carting Dylan's robe away with it. 

"Marco?" he said slowly. 

"Yeah?" I tried to look innocent. And failed, rather miserably, I might add. 

"Why was my robe in the trash can?"

"Cause."

"Cause why?"

"Cause I thought without _it _I'd get to see _this _every morning!" I exclaimed, gesturing at wildly at Dylan, in all his half-naked, bare-chested glory. Much to my surprise, rather than looking angry, he smirked. I had a feeling I had just helped to inflate his already swollen Michalchuk Ego. Like it wasn't already big enough. 

"Oh, really?"

"Um, Dylan? Why are you looking at me like that?" He was grinning at me, slowly closing the twelve or so inches between us. Finally, he was so close that I was forced to back into the door. He brought a hand up on either side of the door frame, trapping me where I was, with my back pressed against the door and my front pressed against him. 

"Cause."

"Cause wh―" I began, but he cut me off with a kiss. Then another. Then another, hard and demanding, and I let myself get lost, bringing my arms up around his neck to pull him closer. I could hardly even feel the doorknob jamming me in the back, I had such an intoxicating distraction. Mmm. A distraction who smelled quite pleasant after his shower. 

"You got a few minutes before you have to leave?" he muttered, a bit winded, when we broke for air. 

"A few," I answered, struggling to bring air into my lungs, and grinning at what I knew was going through his mind. 

"Few's good. Let's go." He released me; we turned to go back through the kitchen, and immediately froze at the sight of the figure in the doorway. Ellie had woken up, and was surveying us with disbelief. She shook her head.

"You two hopeless cases," she said matter-of-factly. "Give me five minutes, and I'll be gone. If you two sex-crazed maniacs can wait that long."

Dylan frowned in consideration. "Better make it three minutes."

"And you wonder why Paige doesn't visit more often," Ellie muttered, turning on her heel to go back into the kitchen. 

"C'mon," whispered Dylan, grabbing my hand and pulling me in the direction of the stairs. At last, fathers were back home where they belonged, gorgeous boyfriends were shirtless, roommates thought their friends were crazed sex-addicts, and all was right with the world. 

**A/N: So, **_**now **_**it's over. I'm gonna miss writing this thing. But, on to the next darco fic! Lol. I have a couple of ideas and I've even started one that I might post. But anyway, one last time (for this fic, anyway) I'll ask… **_**please **_**review? Lol. ;D**


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